


I Owe It All To You

by theworldunseen



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: A lot of Dirty Dancing references, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Reality Show, Dancing with the stars - Freeform, F/M, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-12
Updated: 2020-09-22
Packaged: 2021-03-02 17:07:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 44,061
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24150295
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theworldunseen/pseuds/theworldunseen
Summary: Fresh off another World Cup title with the United States Women's National Team and heading into retirement, Brienne Tarth lets her friends convince her to join the newest cast of Dancing With The Stars. Mostly she doesn't want to embarrass herself. When the show pairs her with veteran dancer Jaime Lannister, she gets even more than she bargained for.
Relationships: Jaime Lannister/Brienne of Tarth
Comments: 434
Kudos: 400





	1. Your Tender Charms

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome! I had wanted to write this whole thing before posting it, but then I got impatient with myself, and I think posting it will actually encourage me to write faster! So here's this!
> 
> The inspiration for this fic was that I was listening to the podcast Who Weekly and they were discussing how Nikki Bella (a professional wrestler) is pregnant and she met her fiancé when they did Dancing With The Stars. The hosts noted that it would be easy to fall in love doing DWTS, since it's basically Dirty Dancing IRL. 
> 
> If you're not familiar with the show at all, it pairs professional dancers with famous people (at all levels of fame, really). In Britain it's called "Strictly Come Dancing," which I assume would be very clever if I were British. Many athletes go on the show after ending their athletic career, especially ones who do sports that the country only pays attention two every four years (Olympians and members of the US women's soccer team). The couples have about a week (though about a week and a half before the first episode) to choreograph and learn a ballroom dance, working in a different genre every week. The dances are often very cheesy.
> 
> I thought about setting this in Westeros but figuring out the geography and how the World Cup would work was too much for my brain, so apologies if you're annoyed by how American this is.
> 
> At the end of every chapter, I'll link to the dances that inspired the ones in the story, if applicable (some will just be completely lifted from the show, while others are more adaptations).
> 
> Title is from the song at the end of Dirty Dancing, "I've Had The Time Of My Life." Prepare yourself for egregious Dirty Dancing references. Every chapter title will also be a lyric from the song they dance to in that section. This chapter will be by far the longest, because I felt like I had to set the table a lot. Going forward, each chapter will cover a week.
> 
> Thanks for reading this long note! Enjoy.

Brienne hadn’t realized there’d be cameras outside. She knew there’d be cameras _inside,_ of course — they were filming a reality show. Sansa had shown her some clips online when she convinced her to do it, so Brienne knew they filmed pieces of the rehearsals to show during the episodes. But she hadn’t realized there’d be cameras outside the rehearsal space, paparazzi cameras ready to get candid photos of this season’s _Dancing With The Stars_ contestants as they headed in for the start of their rhythmic boot camp.

When she parked her car, thankfully at a distance from the two photographers standing outside the studio entrance, she pulled down the mirror to check her reflection. It felt like the bags under her eyes were enormous. At least she’d showered that morning, so her hair was fresh. She put on her aviator sunglasses and reapplied her lip balm. Now she didn’t look like someone who stayed up most of the night, sad but unable to cry. She took another sip of her iced coffee for courage before finally getting out of her car. 

Thankfully, she recognized Brynden Tully getting out of his car just then, too. He turned toward her and nodded his head. She smiled in return. The Blackfish had been her favorite baseball player growing up and she’d been absolutely starstruck when Sansa had introduced them a few years ago, when he’d come to one of their matches. But she was particularly glad to see a familiar face right now, even one so stoic, to help ground her.

Brienne gave the cameras a small smile as she walked past. Rationally she knew that at this point she should be used to having her photo taken. A picture of her and Margaery celebrating her winning World Cup goal had been on the front page of _The King’s Landing Times._ But it was different on the field, where the cameras were so far away, when she was doing the thing she loved. She wasn’t Brienne Tarth then — or she wasn’t just Brienne Tarth. She was something more.

With paparazzi in her face now, she just felt exposed, stripped down. Maybe it would be different if she wasn’t physically and emotionally exhausted. But she couldn’t change that part.

Inside, Brienne and Brynden were met in the lobby by an enthusiastic producer who was _so excited_ they were here and _couldn’t wait_ for them to get started. Brynden grunted and asked where the coffee was, so Brienne tried her hardest to be sweet to the woman, Pia, who was clearly trying her best. She led them to the room set aside for craft services, which was full of breakfast and beverages and snacks. 

“When you’re ready to go, just let me know and I’ll get a PA to bring you to your partner,” Pia explained. Brynden was halfway to the pastries before Pia’s speech was done. Brienne smiled at her again before heading over to snag an orange and a bagel to enjoy with the remnants of her coffee. She sat at one of the tables and peeled her orange as she watched production staff and more competitors filter in and out. Pop star Arianne Martell seemingly floated into the room, more beautiful than anyone Brienne had ever met in her life (and the team had met Harry Styles when they did _The Tonight Show_ a few months ago). Football legend Khal Drogo was possibly hung over, but he greeted Brienne kindly, apparently remembering her from when Hyle had introduced them at the ESPYs in July. _Hyle._ She shook the thought of him away as she finished her bagel. 

After throwing out her plate and orange peel, she found Pia, who introduced her to Podrick.

“Just Pod is fine, ma’am,” the young man said, smiling up at her.

“Pod will be your PA during rehearsals, so if you need anything, just ask him and he’ll take care of it,” Pia explained. “I’ll come meet you in a few minutes.” Then Pod was bringing her down the hallway to her rehearsal room.

“You’re lucky you’re with Jaime,” Pod said as they walked. “He’s never won, but he’s due for it. And you can just tell how bad he wants it. Could be his year.” He corrected himself. “Your year.”

She smiled at him with no teeth. They arrived at their rehearsal room, and Pod opened the door.

Inside was a cameraman, checking his equipment. A sound technician was helping a man — surely Jaime – put his mic pack on. 

“Thanks,” she heard him say as the sound guy pulled away. Then he turned, and Brienne’s eyes almost popped out of her head. She’d watched some of the videos from Jaime’s previous seasons, after she’d found out he was her partner, and she knew he was good-looking. And an incredible dancer. But in real life he was superhuman. His blonde hair was golden and fell in loose waves almost to his shoulders. His jaw looked like it could cut diamonds, and it was sprinkled with the most appealing amount of stubble. His bright eyes met hers across the room — even through the somehow perfectly sexy glasses he wore — and she felt herself blush right away.

“Hi,” he said, not taking a step toward her yet. At least he was dressed casually like she was, in gray sweatpants and a loose black tee shirt. Granted, he looked like a model in them…

This was a mistake. The viewers were going to see her clomping around next to this perfectly handsome man, and no one was going to vote for her at all. 

She put down her bag and finally remembered to respond. “Hi,” she said. He smiled a little, and her traitorous heart gave a tiny little flip. 

Pia came in at that moment.

“Good, everybody’s here. Davos, could you get Brienne mic’d up?” The sound guy — Davos — came over with Brienne’s mic pack. 

“Nice to meet you, Brienne,” he said. 

“Likewise,” she replied. Davos clipped the pack to the back of her sweatpants and the mic to her sports bra, in case she decided to take off her shirt during rehearsal. She often practiced soccer shirtless — but there usually weren’t cameras five feet away when she was on the pitch. She sighed. She’d signed up for this. She’d said yes. And now she had to prove to everyone — including _Hyle_ — that she could do it. Even the silly parts, like letting someone film you learning to dance while you wear a sports bra and leggings.

Pia explained that they were going to get footage of Brienne and Jaime for an hour, their first meeting and him teaching her some simple moves. Then they’d be recorded by a camera that was built into the corner of the studio, just in case something exciting happened that they didn’t want to miss. Brienne knew Pia meant an injury but that she didn’t want to say it and jinx it, which Brienne appreciated. 

Suddenly they were ready to go. The camera guy — Peck — was rolling and Davos was listening to the sound and Pia gave them the go ahead.

“Hi,” Brienne said to Jaime again, feeling weird about pretending. But he gave her this dazzling smile and walked over to her, hand extended. She shook it

“It’s so amazing to meet you,” he said. “My niece and I were obsessed with the team all summer.” She wondered if he was telling the truth, but if it was a lie, she was still grateful. 

“I’ll see if I can get her a jersey,” she offered, and she couldn’t help but match his smile. A smile like that couldn’t be lying, right?

“It would get me so many cool uncle points,” he said with a little laugh. 

They made a little small talk, about Brienne’s dancing experience (minimal) and about Jaime’s dancing experience (extensive) while they did some stretching to warm up. Brienne was glad that the team had been around so many cameras in the past year, because she found it wasn’t so hard to pretend they weren’t there, that it wasn’t just the two of them shooting the shit while stretching their hamstrings.

“Alright, get your heels on and we can go through some basic stuff,” Jaime said at last. Brienne’s face fell.

“Do I….have to? Wear the heels?” She _could_ wear heels, but she really, really didn’t want to. 

“Yes,” he said, raising one eyebrow. She thought he wanted to say something else, but instead softly he tapped his chest, right next to his microphone.

_Right._ She didn’t want to get into this when all her little insecurities would be recorded for millions of viewers at home, and she appreciated Jaime’s reminder. So she shrugged and dug the heels — the “character shoes,” whatever that meant — out of her bag and strapped them on. They were beige and had a t-strap and she’d worn worse, but it was hard not to be bitter about it.

“They’re not like regular heels,” Jaime said, apparently reading her mind. “They’re much more comfortable.” Now she raised an eyebrow at him.

“Spend a lot of time in heels?” she asked. He laughed, a short loud bark that lit up his whole face. He was really _too_ handsome.

“Good point,” he conceded. “I’ll look into it.”

They spent the next 40 minutes going over the basics of the cha-cha, which would be their first dance and which they would dance for millions of viewers on live TV in 12 days. She asked what music they’d be dancing too, and he said they were still deciding, but he said it in a way that told her he knew what it was but didn’t want to tell her right now. It annoyed her, but she’d wait until the cameras were gone to get into it. “Big Brienne is a terrible dancer who hates her beautiful partner” wasn’t the storyline she wanted to establish on day one.

And Jaime _was_ a very good teacher. He was tough and demanding, but knew when to throw in compliments or jokes when she was feeling down on herself for not picking it up faster, even if she didn’t voice that discouragement out loud. They just went over basic footwork, but it was already hard, moving her feet in rhythm while keeping her chest back and her back straight and a smile on her face. It didn’t help that she was still so wobbly in her heels, and fell over more than once. Jaime never laughed, but it was clear from his face that he desperately wanted to.

“We’ll learn all sorts of tricks for the real dance, but it’ll be a mess unless we get the basic count figured out,” he said when he could tell she was getting a little bored. She liked that he said “we” instead of “you” — obviously Jaime could do the cha-cha in his sleep. But they were a team, he was saying without saying it, and she liked that. It made her feel less like she was standing on the edge of a cliff — or, if she was still on the edge of a cliff, at least someone was standing next to her. She felt less annoyed about the music thing. She was still kind of annoyed about the heels.

He hadn’t even touched her yet — they both just looked in the mirror and danced back and forth while he counted the music out. He’d stop to correct her rhythm, or the way she was moving her hips or her posture, but he was mostly focused on helping her get comfortable with the whole thing. 

Then Pia announced that they’d gotten all the footage they needed for the day. Davos took off their mic packs and Peck carried the camera away and they were alone. Brienne took the opportunity to wipe her face with her towel and take a long drink of water.

“Alright,” Jaime said, after taking a sip from his own bottle. “You can complain about the heels now.” Brienne exhaled, feeling more comfortable already. She put her hands on her waist, trying to seem strong and immovable. 

“Do I really have to wear them?”

“Yes,” he said. “Even my dancing shoes have a little heel.”

“That’s not the same and you know it,” she said. He shrugged and leaned back against the mirror, arms crossed over his perfectly sculpted chest. “I’m already taller than you,” she added, starting to ramble. “I know they only made you my partner because you’re the tallest dancer, but I also know aesthetics matter, and the heels are just going to make me look taller and more awkward and probably make it harder to do everything and I just don’t want to look...bad.”

She shifted from foot to foot as Jaime stared at her through his glasses, pressing down on his lip with his teeth. He uncrossed his arms and pulled some of his hair into a little bun on the top of his head, which made him look twice as goofy and twice as sexy at the same time. 

“Come here,” he said, holding his hand out for her. She hesitated. “Come here,” he repeated. She put her water bottle down and approached. She took his hand, trying not to think about how sweaty her palms were. He spun her around so they were both facing the mirror, then let go. She looked at them both. They didn’t look as bad as she’d assumed.

“How tall are you?” he asked. 

“Six four. The shoes are two inches.” Jaime nodded.  
“So you’re four inches taller than me. Not a lot,” he said. Her skepticism must have shown on her face, because he added, “Really, not a lot. And I prefer dancing with someone a little taller than me to dancing with someone shorter than me. Granted, I haven’t had a partner who’s taller than me since sophomore year of high school, but it’s still true.”

She raised an eyebrow at him. “I’d think you’d want someone tiny to spin around in the air.” He blanched a little bit.

“I can’t pretend it might not be...complicated to figure out some lifts and spins and dips, but...it’s easier to explain with bodies, come here.” He held his hand out again, and she took it. “Put your hand on my shoulder.” He put his on her waist and she could feel his fingers through the fabric of her shirt. He counted them off, and they did the basic step they’d learnt in the mirror, back and forth. “Ok, because our legs are basically the same length — well yours are obviously longer, but _basically_ the same — we can both lean into the steps more, have more space to move our hips.” He demonstrated and she tried to copy him, swaying her hips back and forth in a way that was unfamiliar but kind of fun. “Like if I was shorter” — he bent his knees, dropping about half a foot — “then you’d have less space to move.” And it was true, she couldn’t extend her legs the whole way and her hips felt constrained. When he unbent his knees and returned to his full height, she let go of him. 

“But the lifts are still a problem,” she said. “You admitted it.”

“The two inches of a heel aren’t going to make a big difference,” he said. “And the benefits of wearing them outweigh it. They’ll make you less so. And your legs are going to look...long.” It sounded like he wanted to say another word, but Brienne couldn’t guess what it was. 

“Maybe I should be the one lifting you,” she offered one more time. She may as well get it all out now, all the fears at the back of her mind. 

“You don’t think I’m strong enough?” He raised his eyebrows, something devilish in his eyes. “I’m strong enough.”

“But I’m probably stronger,” she said. He tilted his head, like he didn’t believe her. “I _am.”_

“Sure,” he said. “But ballroom is, regrettably, extremely patriarchal, and if I’m the one flying around out there, we’ll definitely go home. OK?”

She nodded reluctantly. “As long as you admit I’m stronger than you.”

“We’ll have to hit the gym together, Tarth. Enough talking, let’s dance.” He pulled out some little remote she hadn’t even known he’d had and music started playing. It wasn’t _the_ song — he said he was still sorting it out with the producers — but it was upbeat and fun. By the end of their rehearsal, Brienne felt, if not completely confident, at least more excited than she had that morning. 

It wasn’t until she was in her car on the way home, sweaty and exhausted, that she remembered what had happened the night before, that Hyle was gone. 

Already she didn’t mind as much as she did 12 hours ago.

—

When Jaime entered the rehearsal room the next morning, he was pleasantly surprised to see that Brienne was already there, stretching in front of the mirror. She had on another pair of leggings with a loose, v-neck tee shirt that fell off her shoulder, showing a hint of a bright pink sports bra underneath. He took a moment to admire her before she noticed his arrival. They weren’t filming until the afternoon, so they were all alone.

Brienne Tarth was a fascinating puzzle. On the one hand, she was strong and determined and she glowed with this intense confidence when she let herself get lost in the movements. He’d seen it when he and Myrcella has watched the World Cup all summer, Brienne leading Team USA with a stern look that left the other teams cowering. But on the other hand, sometimes she could be so hesitant or worried it was like she was another person. Who’d done that to her? Jaime wanted to find them, to fight them until they groveled at her feet. It wasn’t his most enlightened desire.

“Good morning,” he said then, trying to break his train of thought. She turned and nodded at him once, strong and decisive, then kept stretching. He dropped his bag and started to do stretches a few feet away from her, not wanting to crowd her unnecessarily. 

She met his eyes in the mirror. “Can we talk about yesterday?” she said in a very assertive voice. There it was again, that intense confidence.

“Of course, what’s up?” He tried to think about what he could’ve done that would’ve unsettled her, but came up blank. 

“I don’t want you to think I’m fragile,” she said. 

“I don’t think you’re fragile.” He didn’t. He thought she was wickedly strong and incredibly — well. “You’re a world champion, of course you’re not fragile.” She smiled a little at that. 

“I just mean, you don’t have to go easy on me. I can take it.” She grabbed her ankle with her hand and bent her leg back. 

“Of course you can,” he said, maybe a little meaner than he meant. “I won’t go easy on you.” He watched her for another second and said, “Can I ask you a question?”

She switched legs and nodded. He gave up on the pretense of stretching — he’d gone running this morning, he was fine. He wouldn’t be surprised if the same was true of Brienne.

He walked over to her, until there was only a foot or two between them.

“Why did you sign up for this?” he asked. There must have been something judgemental in his tone, because he thought she might have recoiled a little.

“Sorry?” she asked, defensive. 

“It’s not an accusation,” he said quickly, taking a step away from her. She didn’t relax. “I just mean, I’ve trained reality stars who are hoping this will help get them a job on a talk show. I’ve danced with middle-aged actresses who wanted to remind people they were thriving. I’ve partnered with athletes who want a hosting gig on ESPN and I’ve met all sorts of women who mostly wanted a paycheck from the show. All good reasons to do it. Why are you —”

“I just want to win.” 

The way she looked at him, with her guileless eyes and determination in the way she held her chin up… He couldn’t help but grin.

“Great. So let’s win.” He hoped that would help her defenses fall, but then he remembered the other thing he had to talk to her about.

But apparently she could read his mind. “Did you pick the music yet?” He hoped his poker face was good, that he didn’t externally wince.

“Have you watched the show before?” he asked. She shook her head. “Something they — the producers — like to do the first week is have you do a dance that introduces your...schtick to the country. Jeyne is choreographing a baseball dance for her and Brynden, for example.”

Brienne crossed her arms. “So I’m soccer.” Jaime shook his head.

“That’s what they wanted. You in a little cropped soccer jersey and low rise pants, kicking a soccer ball in time to the music.” He could admit it was an attractive image, but he was pretty sure she wouldn’t appreciate his comments. “But I said I wouldn’t subject you to cheesy shit like that.” Brienne nodded. 

“There’s another ‘but’ coming, isn’t there?” He ran a hand through his hair.

“Unfortunately. We couldn’t completely avoid the cheesy shit, but hopefully we’re maintaining some of our dignity. You know the song ‘Rescue Me?’ Fontella Bass?” 

She groaned. “Don’t tell me I have to be a damsel in distress.”

“No, _I’m_ the damsel in distress.” He grinned up at her. “You’re Wonder Woman.” She groaned even louder.

“Seriously?” 

“It’s a much better costume,” he said, defensively. “And you can be all strong and sexy and confident and domineering.” She raised an eyebrow at him, but didn’t mention his word choice, thank God. “Dancing is acting. You act like Wonder Woman and I’ll act like I’m desperately in love with you.” 

“The costume’s so skimpy,” she said, seemingly ignoring what he said. 

“All ballroom dancing outfits are skimpy. Unless we’re doing a waltz.” 

She put her hands on her hips — she really did look like Wonder Woman, like she could tie him up and haul him away. He didn’t think he should tell her that either.

“Somehow I don’t think _your_ outfits are skimpy.” He chuckled.

“Got me again. I promise to do as many dances shirtless as they’ll let me, alright?” He thought her eyes traced his torso for a minute, which gave him a little bit of glee, which made him feel like a caveman. “If it makes you feel better, Baelish told me I have to shave my beard and cut my hair before the first performance.” 

Her face fell at that, which gave him more than a _little_ glee. “Really?” she asked, with — was that sadness in her voice?

If he flipped his hair a little as he walked over to turn on the music, who could blame him?

—

The rest of Thursday and basically all of Friday were torture. She knew dancing would be hard, but it was _so hard._ She couldn’t imagine how some of the other contestants were doing, ones who weren’t used to working out all day like she was. She was an _athlete_ , and she still laid in her bathtub for an hour every night, hoping the pain would recede. 

And then Jaime. Jaime made it easier, really. He was a great teacher. He was tough and demanding and supportive and smart. He listened to her worries and complaints and figured out ways to make her comfortable. 

But he also made it harder. Emotionally, it was difficult to let herself be touched by the world’s most handsome man and remember it was all fake. Sometimes he’d look at her with this warm glow in his eyes and it made her heart feel all topsy turvy, until she remembered what he’d said — dancing is acting. Sometimes he’d be so gentle with her, she felt something inside her melt. Sometimes he’d put his hand on her waist and pull her close and she’d have to chant in her head, “It isn’t real. It isn’t real.” 

She tried to use the weekend to calm down what she called her “raging hormones.” She was just lonely and horny, she told herself. It was just how any woman who was attracted to men would react if any stupidly handsome man kept putting his hands on her, in places that only boyfriends had touched before. Surely. 

Sansa and Margaery FaceTimed her from the east coast on Saturday to check in on how things were going. She kept it vague and ended up mostly listening to them talk about the team’s upcoming match against Mexico next Sunday, which she preferred. 

She also used her free time to collect the personal items that Hyle had left around the house. It wasn’t actually that many, which she supposed was a sign all on its own of how doomed their relationship was. A couple DVDS, two sweatshirts and a pair of sweatpants, a comb and a bottle of hair gel. She put them all in a box, walked to the post office, and shipped them to him. Done.

She did not miss Jaime. It was two days. How pathetic would that be, to miss someone she knew three days, who was essentially her coworker. 

Monday they were back at it. Jaime’s stubble was gone, but he hadn’t cut his hair yet. With his glasses on and his little bun he looked like bad news, the type of bad news she wanted to know intimately. 

Her raging hormones were only sort of calmed by the actual work. There was this tricky move Jaime wanted to add in, where Brienne would fall into half of a split and Jaime would pull her back up. She felt like she couldn’t go low enough, and then that she couldn’t get loose enough to let Jaime quickly bring her back to full height. The few times it did work, she couldn’t find her way back into the dance. And it only made her more nervous that the cameras were filming the whole thing.

What if Hyle was right? What if she couldn’t do it?

Jaime didn’t seem to lose faith, but he had to be thinking about it.

When the cameras were done with them for the day and they were taking their break, she finally said, “I’m sorry I couldn’t get that.” Jaime just shrugged, took another sip of water.

“It’s really hard. We’ll figure it out eventually.” Something in her body must have told him that she didn’t fully believe him, because he added, “My old partner, Elia, she used to absolutely hate this move, but our coach would add it all the time because it looks so good. And every time it was like she had to learn it all over again, but she always got it. And you will too.” 

It might have been a fake story for her benefit, but she decided to believe him. By Tuesday afternoon she _had_ gotten it. 

Then he added this low, theatrical dip to the end of the dance — they spun around a bunch of times until he knelt and she fell backwards and he caught her — and it should’ve been hard to trust him to hold her whole body weight, but it wasn’t. Jaime was _strong_ — not as strong as her, but still strong. The hardest part was the way her whole body felt alive when his fingers brushed the bare skin at her hips and waist, once she’d taken off her shirt and danced in her sports bra. His eyes would flicker across her abs, leaving goosebumps in their wake, though she tried to tell herself it was nothing. She was projecting.

When they finished filming on Tuesday, Pia lingered to talk about the run of show on Monday. First they’d have tech rehearsal, which they’d try to get done as quickly as possible and would give them a chance to practice on the stage. It would also be their main opportunity to watch everyone else. Then they’d go to hair and makeup, and then it would be show time.

“And Brienne,” she added, “I just want to confirm that your boyfriend is going to be in the audience as your support.”

Brienne felt like the floor dropped out from underneath her. It must have immediately shown on her face, because Pia looked worried. Brienne had completely forgotten that Hyle had volunteered to be the person in her cheering section week one. And now she had no one.

“I — I —” She started but didn’t know what to say. _I don’t have anyone?_ Pathetic . “He can’t — he can’t come.” Treacherous tears welled in her eyes. _Don’t blink_ , she thought. _Don’t blink and you won’t cry._

Jaime put a hand on her shoulder as her resolve crumbled and a few tears fell. Not even that many, but she still felt pathetic and small. She hadn’t cried the day Hyle left, but she cried over this? What was wrong with her?

“We’ll figure it out, Pia, alright?” Jaime said. Pia accepted that. She handed Brienne a tissue and practically ran away. 

Brienne used it quickly to wipe her tears. When she turned back to Jaime to thank him, to apologize, to do _something,_ he was putting on his sweatshirt. 

“Come on,” he said, when he noticed her looking. “We’re done for the day.”

God, how demoralizing could one day be? She’d cried and now he didn’t want to deal with her at all. Who did he think he was? Why did —

“We deserve tacos. And tequila. Come on.” He threw her shirt at her and all she could do was put it on and follow him out.

—

“Jaime!” the woman behind the counter yelled when they walked into the restaurant. It was spacious and cozy and every table had five hot sauce bottles on it. It was mostly empty, probably because it wasn’t even 4 o’clock yet. 

“Ella!” Jaime responded, walking over to her to give her a hug. She was gorgeous, her wavy black hair speckled with silver streaks that seemed to sparkle. She came up to Jaime’s shoulder and was so maternal with him that Brienne would’ve thought that _was_ his mom if they hadn’t looked completely unalike.

“Sit, sit,” the woman, Ella, said to Jaime and Brienne. “I’ll bring you drinks, get Doran to fire up the usual in the back. Unless there’s something special the lady wants?” She looked at Brienne expectantly. Jaime stepped in.

“Ella, this is Brienne, my current dance partner.” Brienne didn’t like the word “current,” because it already implied an ending. They were just _starting._ “Brienne, Ella is Elia’s mom.” Brienne nodded and smiled.

“It’s so nice to meet you,” she said. 

Ella fussed over them a little more, getting them margaritas and guacamole while they waited for their tacos. Brienne thought no matter how long she lived in California, she’d never stop being amazed by how much better the avocados tasted.

They chatted a little awkwardly until their tacos arrived, dancing around the elephant in the room, Brienne’s tears. Jaime told her about how Elia had injured herself a few years ago and couldn’t dance anymore, but had built an amazing career as a choreographer.

“It was thinking I might try to tempt her to choreograph something for us, for week three or four maybe,” he added. “Whenever they give us the waltz, I don’t have good ideas about waltzes.”

“That can’t be true,” she said, and Jaime gave her a small smile.

“I’m glad you have such faith in me,” he said. “But really, it’s not my strong suit.”

Jaime waited for her to finish her first taco before asking what he wanted to know, the reason why they’d given up on dancing and were on their second round of margaritas.

“So what’s the matter?” She took another sip of margarita to give herself time to think.

“Hyle — my boyfriend, or ex-boyfriend, he’s a football player — we broke up on...when did we start rehearsing, Wednesday?” He nodded. “Tuesday night.” Jaime might have gasped.

“You’re handling it _incredibly_ well,” he offered, sounding impressed. And she was, wasn’t she? Today had been the very first time she cried, and it wasn’t because she missed _him,_ it was because she didn’t want to be the only loser who had nobody to cheer her on in front of 10 million viewers.

“I think it just means…” It was sad to admit this aloud. “I think I just didn’t actually love him. Or even _like_ him that much. I don’t miss him. I feel...lighter without him.”

If Jaime thought that was weird, he didn’t say it. He nodded and ate one of his tacos, waiting for her to continue.

“So last Tuesday we were at my apartment, and I was saying I was nervous about the show, dancing in heels, if you would be nice, you know,” she said, gesturing vaguely with her hands.

“And was I nice?” Jaime asked, with a little smirk.

“Still deciding,” she said before scooping more guac with a tortilla chip. Jaime wrinkled his nose and she smiled, until she remembered the story she was in the middle of telling. “So I’m stressed, and I guess Hyle got tired of listening to me talk about it, because he said, ‘I don’t even know why you signed up for this.’ And I told him, you know, I wanted to challenge myself, and he said, ‘Well there are challenges and then there’s the impossible.’” Jaime’s eyebrows shifted, like he didn’t know what Hyle had been getting at. Brienne looked down then, suddenly finding the five bottles of hot sauce very interesting.

“He said, basically, that someone as big and clunky and _manly_ as me would never be able to win, and they should’ve asked someone delicate like Sansa or Margaery instead, and that I was going to make a fool of myself.” She was, embarrassingly, too nervous to look up at Jaime.

“So you broke up with him?” Jaime’s voice was low and rough. She nodded. 

“I told him to get the fuck out of my house and never contact me again. I told him I’d rather be single then spend another moment with someone like him. And then I stayed up most of the night, but I didn’t cry.” She ate another taco.

“Good,” Jaime said at last. Brienne finally looked up at him again, and there was something tense and ferocious in his body language, like he was ready to leap from his chair and fight Hyle if he needed to. She put a hand on his, trying to calm him down, just a little and his hand felt warm in hers.

“It’s fine. I’m fine,” she said. Jaime relaxed, almost imperceptibly. “I just wish I had someone to come watch me on Monday. My dad lives in Massachusetts, traveling is an ordeal. The team has a game Sunday night, so I can’t ask anyone to fly across the country to watch me dance for 2 minutes. But I’ll get over it. They’ll come next week or something. It’s fine.”

Jaime looked at her like he knew it wasn’t fine, but he let it drop.

“For someone who’s never danced before, you’re coming along really nicely,” he said. She grimaced.

“That’s not _that_ good though, dancing well for someone with no experience.” He leaned back and crossed his arms.

“At some point, you need to accept that I’m a nice person and that I like you. Just take the compliment, Tarth.”

She felt chastened and took a sip of her drink. Some part of her did keep expecting Jaime to turn on her, even though he’d only been helpful and talented and kind. 

“I’m sorry,” she said. “You’re a very good teammate.” He flipped his hand, pushing her praise away. “Look who can’t take a compliment now,” she joked.

His devil smirk came back. “You’re right,” he said. “I had to learn how to be a good partner when Elia and I matched up in high school. My first partner was a little bit toxic.” The way he said it was funny.

“Who was your first partner?” It was clearly the question he wanted her to ask and he theatrically popped a chip in his mouth.

“My twin sister, Cersei,” he said, with a little laugh. “That’s how I got started. She wanted to try ballroom but she didn’t have a partner, so she convinced me to do it with her.” Brienne giggled.

“Was it weird?” she asked. “Dancing with your sister?” He shrugged.

“Not really. It’s super common at that age to dance with a sibling. Elia danced with her brother Oberyn, until both our siblings quit and we paired up instead.”

“How old were you when you started?”

“Ten.”

“Do you have embarrassing photos?”

“Tons. But you won’t get to see them until at least week three.”

“Deal.”

They clinked glasses.

—

The rest of the days passed in a blur. They honed their routine until it was in top shape, and kept practicing and perfecting it until Brienne felt she could do it in her sleep. Jaime kept having to remind her to _smile_ while she danced, because this wasn’t actually a battle, even if it felt like one. On Friday, he started to teach her some basics of the jive, just to give them a little head start for the next week, assuming they weren’t sent home episode one. She had two fittings of her Wonder Woman costume, and she could admit that it didn’t make her feel _completely_ ridiculous. Just mildly.

Monday still felt like it came too soon. Tech rehearsal was long and tedious, though it was the first time Brienne got to see the other couples dance. Jaime sat next to her as they watched, peppering in little asides so she knew what to look for and who was the best competition. “Opposition research,” he joked. 

He’d been right — the producers had made Jeyne and Brynden do a goofy dance to “Take Me Out To The Ball Game.” When Brynden remembered to smile, it was pretty good. 

In his dance, Drogo was a shirtless king, and he lifted his partner, Daenerys, through all sorts of complicated lifts. Jaime thought the judges would ding them for not doing enough actual dancing and overly relying on tricks. 

Then Addam Marbrand, who was apparently Jaime’s good friend, did a Hollywood number with his partner, Arianne. She was, predictably, really, really good. The strongest by far, Brienne thought, but when she said that to Jaime, he said they were better. She appreciated his attitude, though she knew he was lying. 

Then Missandei Naath, who’d starred in a Disney Channel show when she was a teen, danced with her partner, Grey, and they were just spectacular. So that was two couples who were definitely better than Brienne and Jaime.

They were next. Jaime held out his hand for her and she took it, feeling those raging hormones do flips in her stomach as they walked to the stage. 

Their run-through went fine, and then they had to stand around while the director and the lighting technicians argued amongst themselves. Jaime kept making funny little comments to distract her from how boring it all was, which she appreciated. 

“We’ll crush it tonight, Tarth,” he said, squeezing her hand one more time before they parted ways to get into wardrobe and hair and makeup. Brienne endured what felt like hours of primping and prodding from the makeup artist and hair stylist, but she was seated near to Arianne and Jeyne and Missandei, who distracted her with all sorts of fun chatter and light gossip about their partners. 

Her anxiety came back with full force when it was finally time to put on the costume. It was _so short_. It was one thing to run around in her sports bra and pants during rehearsals, when she could pretend no one would see the footage, but another thing entirely to dance around in a sexy superhero costume in front of a hundred people in the room, and millions at home. Millions of people with social media at their fingertips, ready to make fun of her. 

Once the dress and the fake gauntlets and boot covers were one, she looked at herself in the mirror. If she pretended she didn’t mind being exposed like this, she could admit she didn’t look half bad. She took a quick mirror selfie and sent it off to Sansa, Margaery and Asha, who she hoped would have kind words to lift her spirit.

“I can do this,” she told the woman in the mirror. She mostly believed it.

—

Jaime was pacing in the hallway outside Brienne’s dressing room. He hoped she felt OK in the costume. He hoped it wasn’t too dorky, and that she felt strong and sexy and ready to dance. He just wanted to do well, for himself but also for her. He had never felt this nervous on night one before. On any night, really. But something about Brienne’s drive just fueled his own even more. 

Addam came walking toward him at that moment. 

“Your girl’s got potential, Lannister,” he said as he embraced his friend. Jaime slapped him on the back.

“We can’t all get pop stars,” Jaime replied, hoping he didn’t sound bitter. Arianne was clearly the favorite to win, but he wasn’t mad that he hadn’t gotten matched with her. Brienne wasn’t a natural dancer, but they were taking on the challenge together. It was exhilarating in a way the show hadn’t been for Jaime in years.

“The Wonder Woman thing was clever,” Addam added. 

“Baelish wanted to do a soccer thing, took a lot of convincing,” Jaime said. Addam made a sympathetic face — they both knew firsthand how annoying the show’s executive producer could be. At the end of every season, he threatened to fire them all, though Jaime and Addam had been spared so far. Sometimes Jaime fantasized about quitting. But what would come next?

At that moment, Brienne came out of her dressing room and seemed shocked to find the two men there.

“Oh, hi,” she said, looking down demurely, as if she wasn’t wearing a tiny skirt and corset top. She looked _incredible._

“Hi,” Jaime said, unable to hold back his smile. He only hoped Addam wasn’t paying that much attention to him. “Have you met Addam yet?”

They exchanged pleasantries, then Jaime shepherded Brienne away to get a pre-show snack from craft services. 

He turned to look at Addam as he walked away, and Addam was pointing between the two of them, Jaime and Brienne, and mouthing, “You two?” Jaime shrugged as if he couldn’t read his best friend’s lips.

—

They’d put Jaime in a WWI-esque military uniform. It was not accurate to any movie or military Brienne had ever seen, but he did look dead sexy, irritatingly. She could have sworn he was preening as they walked around backstage. The most annoying thing was that it made him even dreamier.

“The main thing, Tarth, is to look like you’re having a good time,” he said right before the show began. “They’ll forgive almost anything if you look like it’s fun while you do it.” Smirking, he added, “Not that you’re going to miss any steps.”

“Of course not,” she said, deadly serious as always.

“That’s my girl.” She narrowed her eyes but didn’t respond.

Backstage during the show, all the celebrities were nervous, but the dancers acted like it was all old hat. She supposed it _was_ old hat for the dancers, but it still created a strange vibe. And whenever the cameras cut backstage to see them all in the green room, they had to act like they were having the best time ever, which Brienne was decisively not. She felt like throwing up. Jaime kept a hand on her — her elbow, her back, her wrist — and it was the only thing remotely grounding her.

All too soon, Pod came to escort them to the stage. Brynden wished her luck as she walked past him, which was sweet. They stood at the edge of the stage and Brienne looked out at all those people and tried to center herself. Her nerves hadn’t been this bad at the World Cup. She knew she could play soccer. She didn’t know if she could dance.

“When we go out there, look to the left of the judging table,” Jaime whispered in her ear, before putting a hand on the small of her back and urging her onto the stage. She barely could comprehend his words since she was still going over the counts in her head. There were a few wolf whistles from the audience over her outfit — genuine or mocking, she couldn’t tell. Nobody laughed so maybe it was the former. 

Brienne took her place at the top of the stairs and closed her eyes, breathing deeply. It would be fine. It might even be good. Or at least not a total disaster. Surely. She tried to remember what Jaime had said, that if she looked like she was enjoying herself it would cover all her mistakes. She tried to believe it. 

A couple people cheered, and Brienne realized that she recognized their voices. She opened her eyes and looked where Jaime had directed, just to the left of the judges. And there she found Sansa, Margaery and Asha, all in their Team USA jerseys and holding pom poms. They cheered again when they saw Brienne look at them. They had made it here...for her. How could they have gotten here so quickly? She didn't have to fake her smile now. Her friends were here, cheering her on.

Quiet fell over the studio as the package of their rehearsals played. Brienne talking about winning the World Cup. Brienne and Jaime meeting. A short montage of Brienne wobbling in her heels and falling. 

Near the end, Jaime said, “Brienne is a fierce competitor, and that drive is going to make her a glorious dancer.” Her cheeks got warm. _Glorious._ It was very sweet. 

Then the announcer: “Dancing the cha-cha with her partner Jaime, it’s Brienne Tarth.”

She took one last breath and then they were off.

During the intro of the song, Brienne marched down the stairs in time with the music. At the bottom, Jaime sat, tied to a chair. Well, “tied” to a chair. She pulled the rope off, “rescuing” him. Then the singer began.

_Rescue me, take me in your arms…_

It felt like the band was playing faster than their rehearsal track. She couldn’t quite feel the rhythm the way she was used to.

But Jaime had the rhythm down. The tiniest movements of his hands, his body, reminded her of the steps, what she was supposed to do. She messed up the footwork a little bit, which sucked, but she just tried to keep smiling, acting like it was all going fine.

When her eyes met Jaime’s, he seemed happy. She smiled wider, even though internally she was still freaking out. Jaime’s eyes seemed to say, “It’s fine” and “Trust me” and “We’re killing it” and “Have fun.” 

They nailed the split, but Brienne thought she was late getting out of it. Her kicks were super high, though, and every time she rolled her hips back she did sort of feel sexy. Maybe it was the power of the costume after all. She thought Jaime smiled especially wide after she nailed this one tricky section where they danced in unison, facing the judges, holding hands. Both their palms were sweaty, which was its own strange comfort, that Jaime was not as unaffected that he seemed.

All of sudden she realized they were almost at the end. Spin, spin, spin, she felt like she was flying, like they were flying together, and then she fell back into the last dip and he caught her and the crowd cheered and they’d _done it._ Jaime was smiling at her like she’d just won a gold medal and it blossomed in her chest, warm and cozy.

The judges’ comments, talking to the host, it was all a blur. Jaime did most of the chatting while they waited for their scores, but she did get a chance to thank Sansa, Margaery and Asha for coming to support her so soon after their own match, and they waved their pom poms and cheered.

When the scores were ready, she reached for Jaime’s hand on instinct, and he squeezed hers back. 

7.

7.

6.

She wrapped her arms around Jaime for a hug. That put them at fourth best for the night, very respectable and not at all in danger of going home. 

“I’m so proud, Tarth,” he whispered in her ear before letting her go. 

—

After the show, Sansa, Margaery and Asha were waiting for her in her dressing room.

“You should keep the costume,” Margaery said, and her friends agreed.

“You were so hot out there,” Sansa added.

“Like a sex goddess who was going to crush Lannister under your feet,” Asha added, and they all laughed. 

“How did you guys even get here?” she asked after she’d hugged them and started to remove her makeup. “Aren’t you all exhausted?” The three of them were pressed together on the couch, and now they were wearing matching smug looks.

“Jaime emailed me,” Sansa said, like the cat who got the cream. “He said he knew you wouldn’t ask us but that he knew you wanted us here.” Brienne turned away from them then and started rubbing her face more aggressively with the makeup remover wipe. She hoped they attributed her bright cheeks to her smeared makeup.

They did not.

“Is there anything you’re not telling us, Brienne Tarth?” Margaery asked in her most faux-innocent voice.

“He looked like he wanted to fuck you,” Asha added.

Brienned tried to shush them. “He could walk in here any minute! He could be standing outside listening!”

Sansa jumped on that, “So you’re not denying that he looks like he wants you.” Brienne sighed.

“Can one of you help me with the zipper, at least?” Sansa jumped up to help her get the costume off.

“Absolutely nothing is going on with me and Jaime,” she said as she stepped out of her tights. “He was acting. He’s my teammate. He was just being supportive, which was incredibly nice, but it doesn’t mean that he — or that I — or that we…” She pulled on her sports bra. “It’s not like that.” 

Her friends shook their heads in terrifying unison. All she could do was try to divert them.

“Tell me about the game against Mexico,” she said, and it worked, with all three women launching into intense recaps of the match.

_Excerpt From “Dancing With The Stars Week 1 Recap: Entertainment Weekly”_

_Near the top of the pack of dancers was former US women’s soccer star and World Cup champion Brienne Tarth. Her Wonder Woman-themed dance with partner Jaime Lannister was very fun, though it was obvious she’s not completely comfortable on the dance floor yet. She definitely had the best costume of the night, though. The most promising part of the number was Brienne and Jaime’s easy chemistry, which made the whole thing pop in a way that’s rare for less experienced pairs. Watch out for this team going forward._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _The choreography in this chapter was heavily influenced by[Hannah Brown and Alan Bersten’s week one cha-cha](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=v28P25PsOXQ), though the music is different. They also got two sevens and a six. Hannah won her season. _
> 
> _Brynden’s baseball dance is based on[Cubs player David Ross dancing to “Go Cubs Go.”](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eSD6NbBQtu0) It’s very fun, but also very cheesy and silly. _
> 
> _Former USWNT member Hope Solo did[have to do a corny soccer dance](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3C2dx6Kyt-I). I did not want this for Brienne. _


	2. Lightning On My Feet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Week 2: The Jive

Rehearsals could have gone better on Tuesday and Wednesday. Brienne clearly had the stamina for the jive and could jump up and down with the best of them. Every one of her leg kicks was a sight to behold. But when Jaime tried to add in some basic tricks... it wasn’t quite disastrous, but it was close.

There were two main things he’d set his eyes on, knowing they’d boost their overall scores. Getting a six from one of the judges had stung, and Brienne shared his outrage over their score, once he’d explained to her in detail why it was so irksome.

One trick was a tunnel cartwheel, where he’d put his arms around Brienne and flip her from side to side, her legs spinning in the air. He knew she could do it. He’d done it with dancers much less talented than Brienne. But she was freaked out about having her legs in the air, about the prospect of kicking Jaime in the face.

“You probably will,” Jaime had tried to joke, but it had only made her scowl. “It’ll be fine. I can take a few face kicks.”

But Brienne hadn’t budged. He’d gone over all the steps with her, the way he would cradle her in his arms, but she refused to leave the ground.

The second trick wasn’t going much better. They were meant to hold hands and Brienne would jump and slide between Jaime’s legs. Then he’d pull her back up quickly and they’d hurry into the next move.

The first couple times they tried it, Brienne got stuck.

“I’m too heavy,” she’d said, sounding more tired than he’d ever heard her.

“You’re not,” he insisted, but he could tell she was demoralized and they moved on to something else. But if she couldn’t get both those tricks — and he _knew_ she could — then they’d be dead in the water. Game over.

But Thursday morning, Jaime was full of hope, if only because they were on Brienne’s home turf. Literally. They were filming a segment at the UCLA soccer field. 

As Jaime approached the field, the cameras were already set up, and Brienne was stretching. She was wearing her whole soccer kit — red jersey, matching shorts, royal blue socks, cleats. He felt intimidated just looking at her, which he supposed might be how she felt walking into the dance studio every morning. 

“Oh my God.”

He turned to his right and looked at his niece, Myrcella. She was wearing her practice clothes, carrying her cleats in her hand, her blonde curls pulled into a huge ponytail. She turned to him and grinned from ear to ear.

“Uncle Jaime, have I ever told you that you’re my favorite uncle?” 

“No,” he said with a little laugh. “In fact, I think I heard you tell Tyrion _he_ was your favorite uncle when he filmed a TikTok with you and Tommen last wek.” Myrcella pouted, which made her look so much like her mother. He messed up her curls a little, the way he used to when he and Cersei were kids.

“Come on, let me introduce you.” He jogged the rest of the way over to Brienne, and Myrcella followed a little behind, uncharacteristically shy. Brienne smiled at him when she noticed his approach, and — did her face light up? No, it was the sun, or just how happy she was to be on the pitch, or something. He couldn’t let himself think it was for him.

“Good morning,” he said. “Ready to destroy me?” She gave a half laugh. Myrcella finally caught up to them, and Brienne turned her whole attention — the sunlight of her face — to her. 

“You must be Myrcella,” she said, holding out her hand. Myrcella shook it. Jaime had asked Pia for permission to bring his niece when he found out they’d be at the field. Cersei demanded she not be filmed — which he understood — but had let her come, knowing her daughter would be insufferable if she didn’t get to meet her idol.

“It’s an honor,” Myrcella replied, sounding more serious that Jaime had thought he’d ever heard her in his life. “Uncle Jaime and I watched all your games, I couldn’t believe when they called you offsides in that semifinal against Japan, I yelled so loud my mom almost grounded me.”

“My dad grounded me once for yelling at a ref about a penalty. But I know I was right.” They smiled at each other. Jaime wondered how he could get her like this when she was dancing — light and happy and confident. Not an act, like when she wore the Wonder Woman costume: just her.

Pia jogged over to give them the rundown of the shots they wanted — Brienne teaching Jaime how to shoot, the two of them switching off in the goal, some shots of them kicking the ball back and forth while they joked around. After they were done filming, they’d have time for Myrcella and Brienne to play around a bit before heading to the studio for rehearsal.

If Jaime thought Brienne was going to rub his shitty soccer skills in his face, he was, of course, wrong. She was absolutely incredible, of course. It felt almost illegal to waste her skills on someone like him, who last played soccer in 8th grade P.E. But she was also patient and kind and encouraging, explaining to him what he did wrong every time she was able to stop one of his shots, and it did feel like he was getting better.

And when finally he got a ball past her, scoring a goal, she screamed and ran to him, grabbing him by the waist and lifting him into the air before he knew what was happening. Jaime lifted his arms and cheered, feeling a little bit like _he’d_ just won the World Cup. That’s how he wanted Brienne to feel during their tricks — joyful and light. He could hear Myrcella laughing at both of them, and when Brienne put him down he felt, for a second, bereft at the loss. 

They switched positions and Brienne unleashed, kicking shot after shot past him in quick succession as he ran and dove and tripped and flailed. Even Davos the sound guy was laughing at him now, but he didn’t mind. It was ridiculous, putting his mere mortal self on the pitch with a soccer god. 

Just as he noticed Peck packing his camera up, Myrcella ran out to join Brienne, kicking more balls his way. 

“This is unfair!” he yelled, just as Myrcella’s shot hit him in the head.

“Nice block,” Brienne shouted, and Myrcella doubled over with laughter. Jaime turned around to free the balls from the net so he could throw them back to the pair. By the time he’d liberated them all and was watching them again, Brienne was demonstrating something for Myrcella, explaining about the angle of her foot. Myrcella was rapt as she listened, her determination so different from how he saw her usually. She nodded at Brienne, who jogged toward the goal. 

“Figured I’d relieve you of your goalie duties,” she said with a smile. God, what an _idiot_ Hyle Hunt was. 

“And I was just getting the hang of it,” he said with what he hoped was his most charming smirk. He ceded it to her and watched from the sidelines as she let Myrcella bombard her with balls and questions. _What’s your favorite goal you ever scored? What’s your favorite stadium to play in? What was the victory parade like? Are you sad that you retired? Do you miss it?_

“Every day,” Brienne said. “But I’m figuring out what I want to do next, and that’s exciting in its own way.”

Soon after they wrapped up and headed for the parking lot. Jaime figured he had just enough time to drop Myrcella off before heading to the studio for rehearsal. 

“Were you always this good at soccer?” Jaime asked Brienne as they walked across the asphalt.

“Not _this good,”_ she said. “And even a few months ago I was better. But I learned it really fast, and was always a lot better than everyone I played with until I got to college. I played on the boy’s team in high school, they didn’t have one for the girls.”

They paused at their cars. “Oh,” she said suddenly. “Myrcella, I have something for you.” She opened the truck and pulled out a white USWNT jersey, signed by Margaery, Sansa, Asha and herself. Myrcella shrieked, pulling it close to her chest.

“Oh my God!” she yelled over and over. “This is _amazing._ Thank you so much, oh my God!” Without thinking, she threw her arms around Brienne, who hugged her back. Jaime told himself not to be jealous of a 15-year-old. It was easier said than done.

—

Jaime was trying to talk Brienne into doing the lift again, but she couldn’t bring herself to say yes.

“We have to do it eventually,” he said, pushing his glasses up his nose. They were dorky — thick and tortoiseshell. He shouldn’t look so sexy in them, especially when she was annoyed with him. And yet.

“I just — some people weren’t meant to flip!” It was a pathetic excuse, she knew. But she could see it lit something in Jaime’s eyes.

“Alright,” he said. “I’m going to teach you how to do it to me. And then you’ll see how safe and secure I am in your arms, and how my legs aren’t in danger of kicking you in the face, and you’ll be able to do it, too.” Brienne huffed.

“Why can’t we just do it with you then?” She might have even tapped her foot. Jaime was growing less amused.

“Listen,” he said, walking into her personal space and lowering his voice. He usually didn’t do that — dancing required them to stand close together, but he was careful about opening his hands for her, waiting for her to approach first. “I know it’s hard doing something you’re not good at. You want to skip to the part where you’re great and are just working on getting even better.”

She’d known Jaime less than three weeks, but he saw her. 

She pushed her jaw up and out. “I can take a challenge,” she ground out.

“I know,” he agreed, something fierce in his expression. “That’s why you’re going to get this, and we’re going to do well, and then we’re going to win.” He backed away and opened his hands to her. “Let me show you this part, and then we’ll switch.” She reached for him. 

Jaime’s plan worked. Seeing the flip from the other side did make her more confident that she could do the other part — the flipping part. She watched Jaime’s form in the mirror: his straight legs falling into an open V, the smile on his face. After they did it half a dozen times, he asked if she wanted to try. She nodded yes.

And they did it. Her legs were a mess, crooked and not nearly open enough, but it was a lift, and she didn’t injure him. She gasped in delight when her legs hit the floor, and Jaime lifted his hand for a high five. She returned it, smiling. 

“Now you’re good,” he said. She laughed.

“That was _not_ good.” 

“I’m the expert here and I say it was good.” He reached for her hand. “And now we can make it much better.”

—

Friday was their last big rehearsal day before the show. By the time they’d packed it up Thursday night, Jaime had worked a double flip into the choreography — first Jaime flipped Brienne, then she flipped him — which pleased her greatly. Even the weird floor slide situation was working out OK.

Her nerves were back Friday morning, but the ridiculous sight she found waiting for her in the rehearsal room helped banish them.

“Jaime Lannister, are you wearing a crop top?”

He was trying to casually lean against the barre on the wall, but there was something a little too self-aware about it. As he curved his torso back, it showed off the bottom of his abs, which were made all the more appealing by the shadow of hair above the waistband of his sweats.

“It’s comfortable,” he said, before adding, “And you wear those little shirts all the time.”

“They’re sports bras,” she said, failing to stifle a laugh. That made him smile from ear to ear.

“Well I get hot,” he said with a shrug.

“So you wore half a sweatshirt.”

“I get hot,” he repeated, defensive, and was he blushing now? “Let’s get started.” She took off her shirt, because it was only fair they were crop top buddies. And her raging hormones were at least a distraction from her fears about dancing.

—

Brienne’s week two costume couldn’t hold a candle to week one. Their styling for the dance was sort of retro nerdy, for reasons neither Jaime nor Brienne fully understood. But the skirt they’d put her in was pleated and colorful and looked particularly cute when she kicked. The wardrobe team had matched it with a baby blue polo shirt and added retro t-strap character shoes and a pair of fake glasses. Once she was dressed, she sent her group chat another photo and wrote, “Wish me luck.”

There was a light knock on the door, and she knew it would be Jaime. “Come in,” she yelled, trying to put her game face on. Though what a dancing game face was, she was still trying to figure out.

“You look great,” Jaime said, smiling, but if she looked great he looked...delicious. He had his real glasses on and they’d put him in light blue khakis and a dark blue button down with the sleeves rolled up. His hair was pushed back, but one strand couldn’t be contained, falling forward onto his forehead. It was indecent.

“You too,” she said, then quickly looked away before he could read into the red spots forming on her cheeks. “Should we go to the green room?” He put his hand on the small of her back to escort her down the hallway and she shivered just a little. She should be used to his hands on her by now — that’s what ballroom was, grasping and touching and stroking. But it still gave her a thrill, fueling the feelings that she was starting to admit in the privacy of her mind were not just hormones but actually a genuine crush. Not that it would go anywhere. Not that it _could._ The last thing Brienne wanted was some high profile showmance, a relationship used to boost ratings and launch careers. She wanted to do the work, and move on to the next thing in her career. 

Backstage during the show, everyone was noticeably calmer than the week before. They sat by Arianne and Addam, who kept joking around with them during commercial breaks. They had the tango this week, and Arianne’s costume was basically a red latex bikini top with a matching skirt and ropes of black beads. Brienne knew she could never have pulled it off, and she thanked the gods that her “Taylor Swift Week” song was “Shake It Off.”

During Addam and Arianne’s performance to “Look What You Made Me Do,” Jaime pressed close against Brienne on the couch so he could whisper comments in her ear without anyone else hearing. He wasn’t as impressed with the pair as he had been the week before, and he pointed out where he thought the judges would have issues.

“That’s your friend,” she whispered back, scolding him just a little.

“It’s a competition, Tarth,” Jaime replied, softly pushing back the hair that fell in front of her ear so his lips could get closer to it. “I intend to win.” He was right about the judges’ comments, in the end. He didn’t have to tell her that this meant they had a real shot at first place this episode.

During the next commercial break, they took their place on stage. Brienne stood in front of Jaime, with her hands on her hips, while he posed behind her. He touched her waist. “Smile, Tarth. We’re having fun.” 

“Is it a competition or are we having fun?” she asked, turning to glare at him. He squeezed her elbow and smirked.

“Both.”

“Dancing the jive with her partner Jaime, it’s Brienne Tarth.” The music started.

_I stay out too late…_

This week’s dance was objectively harder than the week before, but Brienne didn’t feel as overwhelmed. For the first time, it felt like she was actually getting better at this whole thing. Her smile felt less forced, she was on top of the rhythm, and she was very close to actually enjoying herself. They nailed the floor slide, and the tunnel cartwheels passed by in a rush of adrenaline. When Brienne realized there were only a few seconds left in the dance, she was almost sad. Almost.

A spin and a dip and they were done. The audience started to applaud and the host was calling their names, but they stayed there a moment longer, Jaime’s face somewhere in her chest area, his arms around her waist as her hands looped around his neck. They held the pose for one moment longer while they both gasped for air. When they stood up, they were hugging before she even realized what was happening.

“Perfect,” Jaime whispered, squeezing her tight. Before she could do more than hum in response, he’d let her go and was leading her toward the host and judges.

This time she succeeded in paying attention to their critiques, at least. One of the judges, Varys, seemed very excited about their tricks and urged them to try even more. Another, Myranda Royce, told Brienne she had to work on her facial expressions.

“It’s not a vicious soccer game. We’re having fun!” she jested. Brienne did her best to take the criticism with a smile when her instinct was to scowl. The third judge, Syrio Forel, had some critiques about her posture, but was overall very positive.

The host asked them about how their soccer lessons had gone while they waited for the scores.

“Jaime has to work on his form, but he’s got the enthusiasm to make up for it.” She smiled at Jaime, who beamed back. 

“She’s a very tough coach. I have to be extra hard on her to get my revenge.” He raised one eyebrow and she tried to keep her face neutral, but she was sure she was failing. Jaime made her feel like the teenager she’d never been, giggly and a smiley and always putting hair behind her ear. She hoped she wasn’t as totally transparent as she felt.

Their scores were excellent — two eights and a seven, launching them into second place, which they held for the rest of the night.

“Great work, Tarth,” Jaime whispered to her before they parted ways for the night, his hand ghosting her waist. She’d think about it all night as she tried to fall asleep.

_Excerpt From “Dancing With The Stars Week 2 Recap: Entertainment Weekly”_

_Brienne Tarth’s routine was maybe the most energetic. She’s definitely finding her groove and settling into her dancing shoes. It’s impressive when anyone does those gravity-defying tricks, but it’s even cooler when both the people flipping around are over six feet tall. Hopefully Jaime Lannister’s choreography goes even further next week._

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The inspiration for Addam and Arianne’s “Look What You Made Me Do” tango was [Ashley Roberts and Pasha Kovalev’s Strictly Come Dancing performance.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=M9_clAtMT0U)
> 
> The inspiration for the “Shake If Off” jive was [Bethany Mota & Derek Hough](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=41Z43cQPPSc) on DWTS. The dance as I wrote it was also influenced by some of Derek Hough’s other jives, [especially the one with Bindi Irwi](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mJx7ltqzTIk)n.
> 
>   
> thank you so much for the response to this so far! i've been having a bad time lately, so your support means so much. chapter 3 is almost done so hopefully we'll have weekly updates for a little bit.  
> 


	3. Absolutely Petrified

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Week 3: The Foxtrot

Brienne woke Tuesday morning to a long text from Sansa in their group chat. She had clearly spent a long time carefully crafting it, choosing her words.

“Hey B, did you and Hyle actually get back together? We all support you completely whatever you choose and we aren’t judging you, we just don’t want you to feel like you have to keep secrets from us. Whatever happens, we’re always on your side.” She included red and blue emojis.

Brienne couldn’t write back fast enough.

“Nooooooooo. God. Would never go back there again.”

Sansa, Margaery and Asha’s replies were immediate.

“Whew.”

“Thank God.”

“Was worried you’d lost your mind.”

But Brienne knew this text had to have been prompted by _something,_ and it wasn’t her. She typed, “Why, what did he do?” While she waited for an answer, she climbed out of bed and stumbled to her bathroom to wash her face and brush her teeth.

Sansa sent a screenshot of Hyle’s Instagram Story. He’d posted a photo of Brienne from the World Cup — her back was turned toward the camera and she raised her arms in celebration as she ran toward the team. That was just like him, to pick a photo where you couldn’t really see her face. Asshole. 

Over the picture, he’d written, “So proud of you B for showing the world what u can do. #VoteBrienne @DWTS.”

The little shit. She went back to the group text.

“First he tells me there’s no way I can dance, now he’s using me to make himself look good.” She threw in some vomit emojis, for emphasis.

Margaery answered. “The worst part is, it makes it look like you’re still dating. Since you never announced your split.”

God, Brienne hadn’t even thought of that. She’d been so happy to be actually free, she hadn’t even considered that publicly she was still coupled. And people would think she was cheating if she wanted to movie on with someone, if she wanted to move on with Jai— Nope, she batted that thought away before she even finished it.

She texted her manager and her PR person while she got ready to head over to the rehearsal space. She was still getting used to the idea of having a “team” — when she’d played soccer, the actual team spoke for her. But now she was on her own — except for the people she paid money to. 

They decided they would leak to a celebrity website this week that she and Hyle had mutually broken up a couple weeks ago, explaining that his Instagram post was just friendly support. To emphasize the point, her publicist would set up a fake date for her with someone deemed appropriate — probably another athlete, but they were working out the details — and there’d be flattering, but not obviously staged, paparazzi photos of them published online.

“I just hate the idea of a fake date,” she’d texted her manager before getting in her car. “It’s dishonest and gross.” And, despite her best efforts, a small part of her was thinking of Jaime.

“Literally everyone does this,” she wrote back. “It’s just to let everyone know you’re doing fine after the split. Your fans want to see you and support you. We’re just giving them a little juice.” It still didn’t sit right with her, but she had to get to work. To Jaime.

—

Brienne felt mostly indifferent toward the foxtrot, their assigned dance for the week. It was kind of boring — as was the Frank Sinatra song, “Come Fly With Me,” they’d been assigned — but she knew better than to say that aloud. Maybe she needed a boring week, anyway, while her personal life felt so messy. The hardest part was that Jaime kept emphasizing how she needed to be elegant, a word that no one had ever associated with her in her entire life. 

“The heels will help you get into it,” Jaime said and she rolled her eyes. “What? What?”

“I know you’re parroting things you’ve heard, but since you don’t dance in these stupid shoes, you don’t really know what you’re talking about,” she shot back. She remembered too late that they were being filmed. It was disturbing how quickly she’d gotten used to the cameras being there when they rehearsed, how she forgot to guard herself and let her actual opinions shine through. 

Jaime crossed his arms and cocked his head to the side, but he kept back whatever rude response was on the tip of his tongue. She was instantly embarrassed.

“I’m sorry,” she said, lowering her voice. “I’m just frustrated and I’m having an annoying day and it’s not fair to take it out on you.” Jaime inclined his head and they carried on.

But she wasn’t sure she’d been completely forgiven until Wednesday morning. She was stretching, waiting for Jaime. The cameras were all set up and she thought they were already rolling.

The reason why became clear when Jaime walked in, mic’ed up and with a pair of heels on his feet. 

Brienne burst out laughing as he sauntered toward her — well, tried to saunter. He attempted to swish his hips back and forth, but he was so unsteady it was like watching a giraffe use its legs for the first time.

“Jaime!” she shrieked, covering her mouth.

“That’s not very nice,” he said, but he was smiling — glowing. He looked absolutely ridiculous and completely glorious.

“Do you feel elegant?” she asked, trying and failing to look at him with a straight face.

“Yes,” he said, as he nearly tripped over his feet. He leaned against the bar with a brave face on.

“Do your feet hurt?” she asked, a little smarmy. He winced.

“You know the answer,” he muttered. 

But he was a good sport, and they ran through the choreography they had so far with both of them wearing heels. They tripped over each other and stumbled and laughed and Brienne felt light and carefree with his arms wrapped around her as they moved together. How had he known exactly how to cheer her up, how to get her out of her head and having fun?

But as the day went on — after Jaime had taken off his heels — it started to eat at her just a little bit. She wondered if Jaime had done it just for the show, or if he’d done it for her. It shouldn’t matter if it was for the show. He wanted to win, and that meant bringing out the best in her, hopefully in a way that made good TV and helped people vote for him. It was his job.

But she didn’t want Jaime to do it for the show. She didn’t want him to do it so they’d win. She wanted him to do it because he liked her and he wanted to cheer her up and he wanted to make her smile and he wanted to be close to her and —

No, she had to stop that train of thought. Jaime was her work colleague. Sort of her friend. Any attraction between them was just a side effect of their forced proximity. And it probably wasn’t attraction _between_ them, because that implied it was a two-way street. Jaime had danced with dozens of women; surely he was immune to the lusty side effects of proximity and gentle waist touches. 

By Thursday she was trying her best to keep her mind focused on the task at hand. There was this tricky section, where Brienne kicked one leg up and Jaime spun her around in a circle, until she lowered her legs and they continued to spin together for a few more eight counts. The timing of it was difficult and sometimes their legs got all tangled up.

“Let’s take a break,” Jaime suggested, the next time they fumbled the combination.

“This all seemed so much easier in _Dirty Dancing,”_ Brienne joked, wiping the sweat from her face and walking away to get a sip of water. Jaime laughed, but it was small and little and something about it made her ask, “Wait, you’ve never seen _Dirty Dancing?”_

Jaime ran his hand through his hair, sheepish. “I know, I know, but I haven’t.”

“But you have to! It’s my favorite movie! And you’re a ballroom dancer! How did Elia never make you see it?”

Jaime shrugged. “Just happened,” he said. “I’m not opposed to it, I just — haven’t.” Brienne was resolute. 

“Ok, well you’re watching it tonight.” Jaime’s eyebrows shot up, disbelieving. She understood, when he made faces like that, why some people thought he was rude. But it was just an act, a protective stance to hide his kind core.

“Am I?” he asked. “And how am I going to do that?”

He motioned for her to start the combination again. She walked over and took her place next to him, linking hands.

“I’ll bring the Blu-Ray to your house,” she suggested without thinking. “We’ll order pizza or whatever. Team bonding.”

“Is that how you won a World Cup? Team bonding?” When he said it, it sounded filthy.

“Two World Cups. And yes.”

—

“You really had _Dirty Dancing_ on Blu-Ray?” 

That was how Jaime answered the door. He wore jeans, with a plain green tee shirt tucked in. Brienne was wearing sweatpants and a sweatshirt, which made him feel a little overdressed, even though it was his apartment. Did he seem too excited to see her? 

He stepped aside to let her into his apartment, where she was greeted by a pizza on his coffee table. 

“Of course I have it on Blu-Ray. It’s my favorite.” She dug it out of her tote bag, along with a six pack of beer, which she placed on the table next to the pizza and plates and napkins.

Jaime took the Blu-Ray from her and put it into his Xbox. 

“If I don’t like this, I’m going to have to make you watch some crappy action movie as revenge,” he said, as he used the controller to navigate the menu.

“You still lose: I love crappy action movies,” Brienne said. Jaime laughed and sat on the couch next to her — not close enough that they were touching, but not terribly far away either. It was comfortable.

She opened a beer for Jaime as he started the film.

“OK,” Brienne said. “I promise not to talk too much during the movie so you can have as pure of an experience as possible. You’re gonna like it, I’m sure of it.” 

Jaime wasn’t entirely convinced, but he knew better than to complain. He was keeping an open mind. He sort of felt like Brienne was watching his responses to the movie more than she was actually enjoying the film, but that just made him make goofy faces that he knew would annoy her. “I didn’t know the _Law & Order _ guy and Emily Gilmore were in this,” he said, which got him the sharp glare he was looking for.

“You don’t know Jerry Orbach’s name but you’ve seen _Gilmore Girls?”_

“I had a twin sister!” he said defensively.

“They’re pretty good dancers,” he conceded when Johnny and Penny first showed off their moves. Then he kind of forgot that he was purposefully being annoying about it as he got sucked into the action. Patrick Swayze and Jennifer Grey _were_ really mesmerizing, and seeing how much the movie delighted Brienne was a privilege he was trying to enjoy to its fullest.

“That lift isn’t actually that hard,” he tried to explain over the montage of Johnny and Baby attempting it over and over, but Brienne shushed him.

“It’s symbolic of how they don’t trust each other yet,” she said. “It doesn’t matter if it’s hard — it’s that it looks hard!” 

“They just could’ve choreographed something trickier to —”

“Shh!”

“We could do it right now!” He reached for the controller to pause, but she grabbed it before he could.

“We are not doing it in your apartment!” she yelled, taking the remote and sitting on it. Part of him wanted to fight her for it — tackle her or tickle her or try to lift her legs. He could almost hear how she’d laugh and yell, could almost feel her body underneath his hands. But that’s why he couldn't do it. She was here as his coworker, his almost friend who was nursing a broken heart. He had to draw a line.

As the abortion plot unfolded, Jaime admitted that he had no idea that’s what the movie was about. “It’s a complex coming-of-age story!” Brienne said defensively, and Jaime put his hand on her knee for a second, a light tap to symbolize he’d heard her. He wanted to put it back, but stopped himself again.

When they were almost at the end of the film, Brienne paused it.

“OK,” she said, giving him this deadly serious look that made him sit up straighter. “I need you to not be snarky about the end dance. It’s the best part, my favorite part.”

“I would never,” Jaime said, putting up his hands in a sign of surrender. Brienne cocked an eyebrow. “OK, I would sometimes, but I will not right now.”

“If you need to be mean about it, text Addam later.”

“I can’t, he loves this movie, too.” He took the remote and pressed play. They watched to the end and he applauded when the credits played. It was really good. He turned to look at her, and she was quickly trying to wipe away a tear. Brienne was so precious to him.

“Did you like it?” she asked, her eyes searching his face. Was it obvious how much he adored her? How much he admired how strong and brave and fierce she was? That he loved how she never backed down from a challenge, how she held herself to the highest standards, how she never let anyone tell her what she couldn’t do? Did he want her to know? 

“I really did,” he said, and she almost visibly relaxed. “Do you want to watch the end again so you can explain to me in detail why you like it?”

She blushed and looked away. “Could we?” He smiled and rewound and she chatted through the whole thing, pointing out her favorite lines of dialogue and the costumes and camera angles.

“What’s really amazing about Johnny and Baby is that he doesn’t love her because she’s beautiful, even though she is,” Brienne explained as Johnny gave his little speech at the talent show again. “He loves her because she’s selfless and brave and kind and giving. It’s just as much of a coming of age movie as anything else.” She pointed out when they repeated the choreography from earlier in the film — “And now it’s finally sexy but it’s also _fun_ , Baby is comfortable with him and with herself!” — and all the interactions between the background characters that Jaime hadn’t noticed the first time. 

“But this is the most romantic moment in the whole movie, to me,” she said almost at the end, when Johnny and Baby were dancing together. Johnny lip synced the lyrics for Baby — “And I owe it all to you.”

“That moment is just for them,” she explained as the credits started again. “Their love isn’t a performance, it’s quiet and steady and strong.”

“I guess you really do love this movie, Tarth,” Jaime said, looking at her. Some days he regretted joining _Dancing With The Stars_. Some seasons. But not today. Not this season.

Brienne held his gaze for a moment and looked like she wanted to say something, but then she jumped up and collected their beer bottles. 

“Where should I put these?” she asked. 

“Just on the counter is fine, I’ll take them out later,” Jaime said, following her with the pizza box. He wished he had a reason to ask her to stay.

“Alright,” she said as she dropped them down. “I should probably go. Early rehearsal tomorrow.”

“I heard the choreographer’s an absolute dick,” he said, which earned him a small chuckle from her.

“He’s growing on me,” she said. He smirked as he led her to the door and opened it. They stood in the frame for a moment, like they didn’t know if they should shake hands or hug or do nothing.

“This was fun,” Jaime said, awkwardly shifting from foot to foot.

“Team bonding, I told you,” Brienne said with a little smile. “Thank you for having me over.”

“You did kind of invite yourself,” he said. “If you want to watch that action movie, my schedule’s pretty clear over the next few days…”

“Mine too — Oh, actually I have a date on Saturday afternoon.” Oh.

“A date?” Jaime asked, and he was pretty sure he failed at keeping a note of surprise out of his voice. A date? She had a date? Didn’t she just dump Hunt? Was he forgetting?

“It’s a fake date,” she said quickly, looking down like she was embarrassed. “My ex was acting like we were still together, so my publicist set up a sushi run with some hockey player so it would look like I’d moved on. Probably I’ll never see him again.”

“Probably,” he repeated. “First a football player, now a hockey guy — you’re developing a bit of a type.” He shouldn’t have said it; he felt it the minute it was out of his mouth. Brienne

frowned.

“It’s not — I’m not — Men don’t —.” She shrugged. Jaime wanted to know all the endings to those sentences. “I’ll see you tomorrow.” 

“Yeah,” he said, and then she was gone. 

—

An hour and a half before the show was set to start on Monday, Brienne wasn’t feeling her best. They’d put her in this flowing pink gown covered in sequin applique with a low front and almost no back. Her face was covered in makeup, and they’d added some extensions to her hair to bring it into a huge ponytail.

She felt like a horse. A sad, wobbly horse.

Jaime’s knock came just before she could truly spiral.

She took a breath. “Come in,” she said, bracing herself. Jaime opened the door and leaned against the frame, smiling.

It did make her feel better that his outfit was just as ridiculous as hers — a baby pink vest with matching trousers and a white shirt. But Jaime looked good in _everything._

Clearly he didn’t agree. “I feel like an ice cream man,” he said, buttoning his cuffs. 

“Ice cream men wear white,” she said, tugging on the neckline of her dress. “You look like someone who sells expensive cupcakes.” He laughed.

“Is that supposed to make me feel better?” He was _pouting._

Addam appeared behind him in the doorway. “That’s why I put costume approval in my contract, Lannister,” he said, patting Jaime on the back. 

Jaime stepped aside to let Addam and Arianne into the room. She was wearing an adorable yellow minidress, while Addam wore a short sleeve button down with just enough buttons undone. They looked perfect together. 

Arianne threw her arms around Brienne. “You look amazing,” she said, so genuine and heartfelt Brienne almost forgot about how horse-y she felt. “I can’t believe we won’t all be together next week.”

Brienne pulled back. “What do you mean? Of course you guys will make it through.” She looked at Jaime, who shrugged. 

“Not to spoil your innocence,” Addam said, “But you know the votes only...sort of matter, right?” 

“Oh.”

Arianne took her hand. “No, it’s good news. I just signed on to do a musical for Fox, but we have to go into rehearsals right away.”

“Your contract gives you the flexibility to leave any time,” Jaime explained, then frowned. “But it also means they can kick you off to serve their plot, too.” 

“And I should’ve gotten a ban on face glitter in mine,” Brienned added. Sensing her ambivalence, Arianne launched into the pep talk to end all pep talks about Brienne’s costume and her dancing, and by the end of it Brienne sort of agreed that she looked good. Arianne made sure they traded numbers before heading to the green room — “So we can get lunch sometime. Maybe you can tell me about that hockey player you were spotted with.”

 _God,_ her fake date. The only way it could have been worse was if they somehow hadn’t gotten photos of the Brienne and Los Angeles Kings goalie Tormund Giantsbane. But thankfully they did and a very nice story ran in _Us Weekly_ and the fans were happy.

But the date itself? Very bad.

“There’s nothing to tell,” Brienne told Arianne as they walked down the hallway outside her dressing room. Addam and Jaime were walking behind them, so she couldn’t tell if they were listening. Jaime hadn’t asked about the date again after Thursday. “It was just a setup and it will _not_ be repeated.” Something in her voice must have told Arianne not to pry. The foursome settled in the green room together, and Brienne felt sad that they wouldn’t get to repeat this little routine next week. 

Jaime and Brienne took their places after the first commercial break. 

“Arianne’s right — you do look great,” he said, squeezing her hand. He let go and walked to his position. She was still blushing when he looked at her again.

They listened to the video of their rehearsals play; the crowd _loved_ Jaime’s stunt in the high heels, and they edited out Brienne’s mean moment from the day before, so she didn’t seem like a colossal brat. 

“I’m just nervous about having the right vibe,” TV Brienne said. “Elegance is not a word that’s often associated with me.”

Real Brienne took a breath and tried to put it in the back of her mind. She focused instead on Jaime. Jaime, who believed in her and challenged her and supported her. Jaime, impossibly handsome and very kind. Jaime, who deserved to win. She tried to shake off all her bad feelings about her outfit, her shortcomings, her fear.

“Dancing the foxtrot with her partner Jaime, it’s Brienne Tarth.” 

_Come fly with me, let’s fly, let’s fly away._

Jaime’s hand reached out to her. She took it.

_Excerpt From “Dancing With The Stars Week 3 Recap: Entertainment Weekly”_

Brienne Tarth’s foxtrot didn’t get the highest scores from the judges, but this recapper was charmed by her performance with partner Jaime Lannister. Even if Brienne’s technique was a little less than stellar, she and Jaime brought their easy rapport to the dance floor for another delightful performance.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The dance and costumes in this chapter are based on [ Nyle DiMarco and Peta Murgatroyd’s foxtrot ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=g1ZW-Y3IrzM)during season 22 of _DWTS_. I swapped out the music because when I took a ballroom dancing class in college, we always did the foxtrot to “Come Fly With Me” (which, unlike Brienne, I love), so I threw it in here.
> 
> Fun fact: the chapter title “absolutely petrified” is only in the live version of “Come Fly With Me,” but it worked too well to not use.
> 
> Arianne’s early exit from the show is based on Tinashe leaving in 2018 to go into rehearsals for Rent Live on Fox. It did not go well, through no fault of her own. 
> 
> Next time: the waltz, Elia Martell, lots of feelings. Thanks so much to everyone who's commented and kudos'ed. I hope you continue to enjoy.


	4. Take My Hand

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Week 4: The Waltz

Jaime made Brienne practice the basic waltz step all morning on Tuesday. 1, 2, 3. 1, 2, 3. Just when she thought she’d gotten the footwork down, when the 1, 2, 3 was ingrained in her mind and her feet, he started picking at more things — her arms weren’t straight enough, she needed to stand taller, she couldn’t be too close to him, she wasn’t letting him lead.

She felt just as driven as he did. Even before they’d gotten their scores on Monday night, she knew in her guts it wasn’t the best they could’ve done. She wanted the top score this week, for herself and for Jaime. 

So she stood up straighter. She pulled her elbows back. She let him whip her around and around the room for what felt like hours, and it felt like she was getting better, slowly but surely.

They didn’t start filming until after lunch, when Elia Martel arrived.

The first thing Brienne noticed was how ridiculously beautiful Elia was.

The second was how perfect Elia and Jaime looked together. Jaime had swept her into his arms right away, a big bear hug. Jaime had to have lied to her: It  _ had _ to be easier for Jaime to dance with someone so petite. 

Elia and Jaime turned toward her.

“Brienne, this is Elia.” She was wearing a bright red maxi dress and her shiny brown curls were pulled into a perfectly messy bun. She looked exactly what a world-class choreographer was supposed to look like, beautiful and artsy and warm.

“It’s so nice to meet you,” Brienne said, smiling. She put her hand out to shake hands, but Elia pulled her into a hug, too.

“I have a feeling we’re going to be friends,” she whispered and Brienne wanted to believe her. Something in Brienne was automatically defensive around ridiculously beautiful women; she innately expected them to cut her down and box her out. Being friends with Sansa and Margaery and Asha — really so many of her teammates — had helped her get over that hangup, mostly. So she promised herself that she’d try her hardest not to reject Elia before they’d even gotten started.

First Elia had them show her what they’d been working on that morning. The song she’d choreographed was Vanessa Carlton’s “Ordinary Day,” which Brienne had loved since she was 16 years old. It was perfect for a waltz, sweet but not cheesy, romantic but not too serious. 

They danced around the room for about a minute. Jaime kept smiling at her, and her traitor heart melted every time their eyes met.

Elia paused the music and they pulled apart. Brienne wiped the sweat from her forehead while Jaime crossed his arms and waited for Elia’s comments.

“Jaime, Jaime, Jaime,” she said, smirking. “Your form was all over the place. You can’t let Brienne down like that. She was  _ way _ better than you.”

Brienne laughed. Jaime rolled his eyes. “Be serious, Elia,” he said, putting his hands on his hips. Elia shrugged. 

“Take off your shoes,” she said.

“Elia —”

“I’m being serious,” she said. “I want this dance to be light and airy, and shoes will just bring the energy down.” Brienne felt like this might have been a dig at her dancing in heels, but she was too grateful that she wasn’t going to be wearing them to even feel slightly offended. Before Jaime even had a chance to argue, Brienne was on the floor, taking off her shoes. He joined her a second later.

“Ok,” Elia said, her hands on her hips. “Now we get to work.”

—

Brienne did the bad thing that night. Sitting on her couch, she opened her laptop, opened a new tab and searched “Jaime Lannister Elia Martell.” They were just so charming and funny and comfortable together; she had to know.  _ She had to. _

There were articles about when they joined  _ DWTS, _ fresh off their ballroom dancing world championship. There were tons of videos of their dancing — on the show, and off. They were absolutely incredible. Every time Jaime lifted Elia into the air, it seemed completely effortless, like they were flying together. Brienne and Jaime danced together, but Elia and Jaime were artists at the top of their craft. It was mesmerizing. 

She looked at more recent articles. Jaime was briefly mentioned in a post about Elia leaving  _ DWTS _ after her injury. Then Elia had dropped his name a handful of times while doing interviews about her choreography; she’d just finished working on a new Broadway show that was a huge hit. 

Then Brienne’s searchings brought her to social media. Most of the posts she saw were older, but there were...a lot of people who wondered if Elia and Jaime were in love.  _ A lot. _ There was one particular photo that fans seemed to like the most, posting it over and over with all sorts of romantic captions. It was from some episode of  _ DWTS _ when Elia had still worked there, from one of the professional-only dances they sometimes put into the episodes. She was wearing this barely there lace dress, somehow the perfect combination of sweetness and sex appeal. Jaime was sauve as always in black pants, a whtie button down and an undone bow tie. He looked artfully rumpled. They were looking at each other like they were the only two people in the whole world.

Jaime had said dancing was acting. That’s probably all it was, right? And hadn’t Brienne been determined to stay away from Jaime when it came to anything more than friendship? It was too soon after her own heartbreak, and they still had to work together. Getting her heart combined in where she worked was a recipe for disaster. If Jaime was in love with Elia, it wasn’t her business.

And yet. 

Brienne deleted Jaime and Elia’s names from the Twitter search. Then, with dread in her stomach, she typed something worse: “Brienne and Jaime.”

She skimmed as quickly as possible, feeling guilty and ridiculous. There were tweets from some of her friends hyping her up, telling their followers to vote for her. Many of the fans she’d made during her soccer career — many of whom were lesbians — were also drumming up support and votes. She noticed #wlwforTarth more than once, which made her smile. They were some negative posts about her looks, about how obviously Jaime was better looking than her. She tried to scroll past those as fast as she could. 

Then, she saw a photo of her and Jaime from that week. She paused. They were standing with their arms locked while they wanted for judging. The caption: “Brienne and Jaime are soooooo cute together, I want them to make beautiful blonde babies.”

She slammed her laptop shut. Her whole face was burning, and she had the weirdest feeling in her stomach. She felt like she had crossed some invisible barrier she shouldn’t have even known was there.

Worst of all, she...kind of liked it. She liked that someone else — someone who didn’t know them at all — saw her and Jaime and thought, “Yes. They belong together.”

And she felt guilty for liking it.

—

Wednesday night, Elia and Addam  _ insisted _ on taking Jaime out for tacos at Ella’s after rehearsals. He knew an ambush when he saw one, but at least this one would be delicious. The questions started in earnest after their guac and chips had arrived.

“So Jaime,” Elia said, in that pestering, annoying way she had perfected when they were still kids. “When will you end the  _ crushing _ sexual tension and ask Brienne out?”

Jaime groaned. Addam laughed and scooped more guacamole on to his tortilla chip.

“You don’t think they’ve fucked yet?” Addam asked, still smirking. Jaime kicked him under the table. 

“I’ve spent two days watching them dance around each other, no pun intended,” Elia said. “Trust me, they haven’t.”

“Don’t talk about me like I’m not here.” Jaime wasn’t afraid to resort to pouting to get his way, but it wasn’t working.

At that moment, Ella came over with their taco orders. 

“Why are we giving sweet Jaime such a hard time?” she asked, handing them their plates. Jaime might have preened, just a little, under her motherly attention. 

“He won’t tell us what’s going on with him and Brienne,” Elia explained to her mom before digging into her portobello taco. 

“Was that the tall blonde you brought in here a couple weeks ago?” Ella asked him. “I liked her.” Now he was really done for.

“You brought Brienne here?!” Addam and Elia asked in unison. Jaime put his head in his hands Ella ruffled his hair fondly and walked away.

“It wasn’t like that,” he tried to explain, but both of his friends hit him with their death stares. “It was team bonding.” He didn’t want to spill Brienne’s secrets about their lunch, the things she’d said about her ex. He felt protective of her, and of their bond, as sometimes confusing as it was.

“But you want it to be like that,” Elia said, matter-of-fact. Jaime ate one of his tacos to buy himself some time, but when he was done they were both sending their “I see what you’re doing” glares at him.

He put his hands on either side of his plate and took a deep breath.

“Do I like Brienne? Obviously. How could I not? She’s smart and kind and funny and generous, she makes me look like I’m  _ not _ competitive, she’s ridiculously strong, she —”

“We get the picture,” Addam said with a laugh. Jaime could have pointed out that Addam had spent many nights waxing rhapsodic about  _ Elia, _ while refusing to make a move, but he was a good friend, so he kept his mouth shut. 

“So what are you going to do?” Elia prompted him. 

“Well at first I wanted to wait because she’d just broken up with someone, and I didn’t want to be weird.”

“So noble,” Elia said with a little eye roll.

“But then she told me she went on a date last weekend — a fake date, with some hockey player, but it could have turned into a real date, she hasn’t mentioned it again but I figured that means —”

“She told you it wasn’t a real date?” Elia asked as she stole the end of the guacamole. Jaime nodded. “That’s good, she wanted you to know she’s a free agent.”

“I don’t think she—”

“Trust me,” Elia said. “She wanted you to know it wasn’t real.”

“Well,” Jaime said, still not sure he believed her, “I still don’t want to make a move while we’re doing the show. Either she’ll reject me and it’ll be horrendous, or she won’t reject me and then Baelish will find out we’re together and he’ll try to use it to boost ratings for his show and it’ll make the whole thing feel rotten before it even has a chance.” He sighed. “It’s not like I haven’t thought about this. A lot.”

“Hadn’t thought of the Baelish angle,” Addam admitted. 

Elia had butted heads with Baelish even more than Addam and Jaime had. He was always pressuring her to accept skimpier costumes, to choreograph sexier dances. When one of her celebrity partners had sexually harassed her, he’d done nothing until Addam and Jaime had backed her up, and he held it against all three of them. And the moment she’d gotten injured, he’d dropped her from the show before it was even clear she could dance again.

Elia smiled at Jaime with a sad look in her eyes. “Well you better hope you get voted off soon, because I don’t think either of you will last that long.” 

—

Brienne  _ loved _ what Elia had choreographed for her and Jaime. She could feel in her bones what a gift it was to get to work with someone so brilliant. She didn’t just throw choreography at them — she tried to understand Brienne’s strengths and wanted to show them off. It was a collaboration.

But the experience still made Brienne wish she was a better dancer. Jaime and Elia were both supportive and encouraging, but she couldn’t help but feel like she was fucking it up. She worried she was holding them all back from greatness.

That didn’t mean she wasn’t still striving for it, though. 

They were working on a lift, mercifully without cameras present. It was, as Elia explained, kind of the whole reason for doing the dance at all. It came near the end of the song, when the music calmed down a little. Jaime came around Brienne and then circled her waist in his arms. He picked her up at the same time she placed her hands on his hips, pushing herself up and back. She was supposed to kick her legs behind her, as if she were flying.

“It’s really hard to do,” Elia admitted. “But it needs to look completely effortless. Like you’re just floating on the power of your love.”

Brienne looked away from both of them then, and took a big sip of water. When Sansa had talked her into doing this, she’d warned her about a million things, and none of them had been “you’re going to develop the world’s biggest crush on your partner and it’s going to be everything else about this completely unbearable.”

They worked on the lift over and over and over. It took a couple tries just to get Brienne’s feet off the ground, and even then she felt uncertain. She had to keep her head straight, her shoulders back, her toes pointed, her legs strong, and she had to look like it wasn’t any work, like she was this perfect, lovely girl just having a perfect lovely day. Every time she tried it, she got more and more frustrated. 

Elia, mercifully, noticed.

“Let’s take five,” she suggested. “Jaime, can you go get us some Gatorade?” If he was surprised by her request, he didn’t show it. He grabbed his sweatshirt and quietly exited the room. Brienne leaned against the barre, catching her breath as Elia approached her.

“This is what I want,” Elia said, both kind and stern at the same time. “I know last week for foxtrot you had to put on a character, and I know that had to be uncomfortable for you. The artifice of elegance.”

Brienne nodded.

“And I know you’re trying to do the same thing now, but I don’t want you to. Just be yourself.”

“Be myself,” Brienne repeated, trying to make sense of it.

“How does Brienne Tarth act when she’s in love?” Elia asked. “Dance this waltz like that.”

The question was a livewire. Brienne didn’t want to touch it. She nodded, but she could see Elia didn’t fully buy it.

“Tell me if I’m being too forward,” Elia said, “But my whole life, people never thought I could be strong. I was sick a lot as a kid, and my brothers babied me, and I had to fight hard to cultivate strength in myself. And I feel like maybe you’re whole life, people have never thought you could be anything  _ but _ strong. But we both contain multitudes.” Elia crossed her arms over her chest. “Was that too much?”

Brienne shook her head, a little gobsmacked. “Not too much,” she confirmed. She and Elia were still smiling at each other when Jaime came back in with two blue Gatorades (Brienne’s favorite flavor. Had she told him that?). 

Rehearsal went a little better from there. At the very least, in the last month Brienne’s dancing vocabulary had expanded, making it easier for her to understand just what Elia was asking of her, even if she couldn’t perfectly execute it. And if she fell, she trusted Jaime, with his strong hands and true eyes, to catch her every time. 

“You did great work today,” Elia said when they were done. Brienne felt sore all over, ready to go home and take a long bath. She and Jaime both thanked Elia, who was gone before either of them had gathered their things. 

Jaime sat down to put his socks and shoes back on and turned his gaze to Brienne. “So Tarth,” he said. “When are we watching our crappy action film?”

She put her hands on her hips.

“That was only if you  _ didn’t _ like the movie.” But then he batted his impossibly long eyelashes at her, and she knew she would say yes to anything he said.

So that’s how they ended up on Brienne’s couch, three hours later, eating banh mi and watching one of the many entries in the  _ Fast & Furious _ franchise. 

But unlike when they’d quietly watched  _ Dirty Dancing, _ this time neither of them could keep their mouths shut. At first, they started out lightly making fun of the film — the over-the-top stunts, The Rock’s wooden acting, the heavy-handed love story. But then their conversation strayed, and soon the movie was just background noise while they talked about themselves. They compared injuries (Both of them had fucked up their right knees in the not-so-distant past, though only Brienne had needed surgery), which led to a conversation about college, which led to a conversation about the drunkest they’d ever been (Jaime the day before graduation, Brienne the day after she won her first World Cup), which led to a conversation about what they wanted to do next.

“Part of me thinks I should go coach,” Brienne said. “But I wonder if there’s something else out there for me I’m not even thinking of.”

“Like dancing?” Jaime asked, and Brienne laughed. 

“Not quite. I’m sure our eventual elimination will be the end of my dancing career.” 

Jaime pouted. “That’s very pessimistic. I’m not sure if I’m more offended on my behalf or yours.” Brienne laughed, loud and bright. 

“It was definitely a slight toward my dancing skills, not your teaching, don’t worry.” But that didn’t sit quite right with Jaime either.

“You’re doing amazing, Brienne. I know I can be tough on you, but you know that, right?” Brienne tried to shake him off. “No, this is important,” he said. “Have you even watched yourself?”

She shook her head. “I don’t think I want to. I’d just focus on all the things I messed up.”  _ Or how ugly I look, _ an evil voice in her head added, and she tried to swat it away. But Jaime wouldn’t accept it. He took out his phone.

“The key is to watch twice. The first time you’ll notice all the mistakes. The second time you can focus on what’s working.” Brienne crossed her arms. For a second, he thought she’d say no.

“Fine,” she said instead, and he smiled up at her, pleased. He let her pick which dance to watch. She wanted to pick the jive, or even the cha-cha, but instead she let herself be brave and told Jaime to put on the foxtrot.

The first time...was rough. Her toes were flexed too often. Her back should be straighter. Sometimes her fear was clear on her face. Other times, she thought the look on her face was so obviously fake that she couldn’t believe anyone thought it was a good performance.

_ But it was a good performance, _ she reminded herself. Not the top but not the bottom. They got the job done. 

The video was over faster than she expected. Jaime was looking at her, a worried look on his face. Again, she wondered if he was being so nice to her because it was his job. But surely coming to her house, sitting on the couch with her was outside his job description?

“Ready for another round?” he asked. 

“Yes,” she said, trying to feel brave. 

“And you’re going to focus on how good you are?” he added, a joking lilt in his voice. She rolled her eyes and he barked a laugh.

“Just play it, Lannister,” she said, and he obliged. 

At first it was hard to focus on the things she did well, but soon she could see it. There was something really pleasant about their dancing. That spin they’d worked so hard on had turned out really well. The muscles of her back did look pretty badass in that dress she’d hated so much. Sometimes she did look light and breezy, like she was having the best time. And wasn’t that the truth? She  _ was _ having a great time. Even when it was hard, or she was annoyed or frustrated or scared, it was mostly fun. She was glad she’d done it.

Again, the video was over quickly. And again Jaime was looking at her, but this time he was grinning from ear to ear. It was infectious. 

“OK,” she conceded. “We’re pretty good together.” He shook his head.

“I disagree,” he said, his tone light and teasing. “I think we’re excellent together.” Her stomach swooped. God, she was in trouble. 

She got up and walked to the kitchen, making sure she did not look back at Jaime to see if he was disappointed she’d moved away from him. It was information she didn’t need in her brain. Instead she got them two more beers from the fridge. 

“I don’t even know what’s happening right now,” she said when she got back, inclining her head toward the TV and putting their conversation back on neutral ground. 

For once, Jaime followed her lead. 

\--

Monday came fast, but Brienne was feeling confident. Elia, she thought, really did bring out the best in her and Jaime. Both she and Addam were on hand during tech rehearsal, and after Brienne and Jaime’s practice, they had nothing but effusive praise. 

“Tarth, you’re a stunner out there,” Addam said. “Really just outshining Jaime at every chance.” Jaime elbowed his friend and Brienne laughed. Elia and Addam were Jaime’s team, the way Margaery, Sansa and Asha were hers. She felt honored to be accepted into their club, even if just for a little while.

“I’m going to miss you backstage tonight,” Brienne tol Addam. “You and Arianne. How are her rehearsals going?”

“We were texting this morning, she said it was tough but good,” he relayed. Elia narrowed her eyes.

“Why are you still texting Arianne?” she said. He put his hands in the air.

“We’re friends! She also said she was going to tell her manager she wants me to choreograph her new tour,” he explained, more defensively than Brienne thought was truly warranted. But Jaime was watching them like it was the world’s most interesting conversation, so clearly there was something she was missing.

“She’s my cousin and she’s 21,” Elia said, crossing her arms. Brienne saw the resemblance between her and her mother then — no nonsense, not to be trifled with. 

“And we’re friends!” Addam said. “Don’t be ridiculous!”

“I’m not being ridiculous!”

Jaime pulled on Brienne’s arm. “I think we’re needed in wardrobe,” he said, not that Addam or Elia were paying them any attention anymore.

“I don’t think —” But Jaime steered her away from them, then stopped.

“If we didn’t leave now we were gonna get stuck there for an hour,” he advised, smiling a little at his friends.

“What’s that  _ about?” _ Brienne asked. Jaime shrugged.

“Addam’s in love with Elia, and Elia… Elia I’m less sure. She was with someone for a while who really sucked, and I think it messed her ability to see what’s right in front of her.” 

“That sucks.” 

“It’ll work out though, I think.” He turned back to look at his friends, who were still arguing. “Sooner rather than later.” They went over to craft services to get water and snacks. 

“You know,” Jaime said, something faux casual in his voice, “I never asked you about your fake date. Brienne spilled a little bit of the water she was drinking on her shirt and she hoped he hadn’t noticed.

“Uhh,” she said, not sure how honest she wanted to be. “Honestly, pretty bad.”

Jaime frowned. “That sucks. I guess you can’t expect much from a fake thing.” He didn’t sound  _ that _ regretful to Brienne’s ear.

“Yeah but you can expect human decency,” she said, and then Jaime was really frowning. She launched into the story about what happened, about how Tormund had been creepy and objectifying, how she couldn’t relax for a single second around him. “I know I’m not...hot or sexy or whatever to most people, but there’s something gross about being treated like...a fetish.” Jaime’s eyes darkened, but Pia came over to go over some issue before he could say anything.

_

Elia had given the costume department strict instructions on what Brienne was to wear. They put her in an emerald green midi skirt, whose pleats would look amazing when Brienne kicked into the air. It had matching green shorts, visible during the most fabulous of turns. They paired it with a simple white button down, tied at the bottom and rolled up at the sleeves. As Brienne dressed, she thought about what Jaime said about Addam and Elia. Surely that meant _he_ wasn’t interested in Elia, right? Unless he was the world’s best actor. She felt a little lighter because of it, but then felt guilty for caring at all. Hadn’t she decided to stay away from Jaime until all this was over?

Elia came in while Brienne was in the makeup chair. 

“You look incredible,” she said, coming around the chair to hug her. Elia was so genuinely kind that Brienne felt guilty for being even a little jealous of her. Selyse, the makeup artist, shooed her away so Elia didn’t mess up her hard work.

“Thank you for everything, Elia,” Brienne said, making eye contact with her in the mirror. “I really feel like a dancer now, and it’s thanks to you.”

Elia brushed her off. “It’s all you. And a little Jaime. My job’s easy when I’m working with people who care. And who I actually like.” Brienne smiled at her, which got her another tsking from Selyse, who didn’t want to smear her contour. 

When Brienne’s hair and makeup was finally complete — so much work for her to just look “natural” — Jaime came into the room to join them. He was wearing a white button down with the sleeves rolled up and enough buttons open that Brienne could see a little of his chest hair. He looked good in everything they put him in, as she often complained, but tonight...he just looked like Jaime. Handsome, kind, dashing, sexy Jaime. It all felt dangerous, like they were on the edge of something she wouldn’t dare to name. 

Elia wished them luck one more time, and they both hugged her before heading to the green room, hand in hand. There, they chatted with the other contestants — Missandei and Grey were also doing a waltz, while Drogo and Dany seemed worried about their rumba. Brynden, meanwhile, was clearly hoping this was the week he would be sent home.

“I’m too old for this,” he said, stretching his back against the wall, and Jaime and Brienne both good-naturedly tried to soothe him while Jeyne rolled her eyes, clearly used to his theatrics.

“The truth is,” she told them, “All the moms who watch have enormous crushes on him, so I think he’s gonna be stuck around here for a pretty long time.” 

During the show, they took their usual spot on the couch. Without Addam and Arianne with them, there wasn’t quite as much of a reason for them to sit so close together, but neither of them said anything or moved apart. Jaime’s hand was on Brienne’s knee the whole time while they waited. he was too afraid to look at it straight on and figure out what it all meant. That could wait for the early hours of the morning when she couldn’t sleep.

When their time came, they walked hand and hand to the stage.

“You ready?” she asked him, smirking.

“That’s my line,” he said with a little pout. He smiled up at her before letting go of her hand so they could take their places, back to back. 

The audience loved their rehearsal package this week, eating up all the banter between Elia and Jaime. Brienne could see Elia in the audience out of the corner of her eye, and she must have noticed her watching because she gave her a thumbs up. Brienne gave her a tiny wave. 

“Dancing the Viennese waltz with her partner Jaime, it’s Brienne Tarth.”

_ Just a day, just an ordinary day. Just trying to get by. _

They started the dance back to back, rolling their bodies in unison. Then they circled around each other, waltzing solo until they came together, taking each other’s hands. 

Rationally, Brienne knew this was by far the most technically difficult dance they’d done. There were so many tricks — high kicks and fancy turns, their bodies constantly coming together and pulling themselves apart — and Brienne had to keep her frame perfectly straight the whole time, had to keep her steps in sync with Jaime’s even when he was on the other side of the dance floor. 

But she loved the challenge. It was far and away the most fun she had during one of these performances. For once, she definitely didn’t need a reminder to smile.

_ Take my hand, live while you can… _

Brienne relished this part, which had she and Jaime taking turns while they spinned each other around. As they danced across the stage, she felt light and happy, like she was exactly where she needed to be. And every time she and Jaime made eye contact and he smiled at her, she thought he felt that same rightness, too. 

She felt the momentum building as they danced through the bridge, circling the dance floor in what felt like perfect time. Then they moved into the end of the song, into that lift they’d spent so much time on.

Jaime danced around her before catching her in his arms. He grabbed her and she pushed up and then it really was like she was flying through the air. They smiled at each other as they hit their marks, and the feeling of knowing that they were  _ nailing it together _ was intoxicating. The crowd let out a cheer before he put her down, and then arm and arm, they walked upstage as the lights went down.

As if they had planned it, they turned to hug each other as the crowd roared. If they never danced that well again, Brienne wasn’t sure she’d mind. Jaime’s lips momentarily brushed her neck, sending chills down her spine. Surely it was an accident? 

Before she could consider it, the host was moving them toward the judges. 

As Myranda gave her remarks, she wiped tears from her eyes, which Brienne was pretty sure were fake, but the audience ate it up.

“Our Elia is a talented choreographer,” Syrio said during his turn, and Brienne could imagine Elia gagging at the use of “our.” “But you both elevated her work even further.”

But Varys’ comment was the one that kept ringing in Brienne’s head all night.

“The love between the two of you was just palpable,” he said. “You must be a very good actor, Brienne Tarth.”

But she wasn’t. She  _ wasn’t. _ She was fucked.

_ Excerpt From “Dancing With The Stars Week 4 Recap: Entertainment Weekly” _

Brienne Tarth’s waltz with partner Jaime Lannister was the highlight of the week and rightfully earned top marks. Some  _ DWTS _ fans have been wondering if there are IRL sparks between the soccer star and her partner, and this super romantic dance is probably only going to feed those fan’s obsession a little more. We don’t blame them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>   
>  The basis for this week’s dance was actually from  _ So You Think You Can Dance _ .  [ Mollee and Jakob’s waltz ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Q7HrlN0YQjs) is one of my all-time favorites. Imagine Jaime and Brienne’s dance as a notch or two less difficult (though that end lift, my favorite, is exactly the same).
> 
> Thank you as always for the comments. They always brighten my day and make writing a little easier.


	5. What It's Like To Be Next To You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Week 5 - Tango

Jaime nodded, listening to the words coming out of Pia’s mouth. He tried to look calm, but inside he was fuming.

“So Baelish just figured you guys could do the tango this week instead. I hope it’s not too hard for you to move things around.”

A million thoughts went through Jaime’s head, but he told Pia it was alright. It wasn’t her fault, really. They all had to relent to Baelish’s wants, and she wanted to keep her job. Didn’t Jaime want to keep his, too? 

He walked into the rehearsal room, which was mercifully empty, and let out a loud groan. The tango? Were they fucking serious?

Of course Jaime knew he and Brienne would have to do it eventually, but he figured by then...by then he’d have a grip over his feelings for her. Maybe that was a foolish thought, but it had seemed possible.

At least he could’ve prepared himself a little better! Brienne was going to show up here any minute. And the fact that Baelish wanted the tango moved up two weeks meant that he  _ was _ intent on playing up this spark between Jaime and Brienne. Jaime had been so worried that actually doing something with Brienne would put them in the crossfire that he hadn’t considered that they’d still be a target even if they did nothing, that the chemistry between them was so apparent that they couldn’t control it. Going to Baelish to complain about the move would only let the producer know that there  _ was _ something going on. It was a lose-lose situation.

“Fuck,” he said aloud before queueing up the music the producers had chosen for their tango.  _ Of course _ the song was ridiculously steamy.  _ Of course _ the choreography would require over-the-top sensuality.  _ Of course _ Jaime was going to lose his fucking mind doing this with the woman he wanted so much but was determined to stay away from. 

Thankfully, despite his anguish, his choreographer’s mind was also already whirling, ideas coming fast. Brienne  _ would _ be incredible at the tango — strong and sexy and commanding. It would be a disservice to her to choreograph anything less than his best, even if he was annoyed about the circumstances. 

He listened to the song a couple times, making notes in his phone for ideas he didn’t want to forget. He was lost in the track for the fourth or fifth time when the door opened and Brienne walked in. She smiled widely at him, her bag in one hand, an iced coffee in the other.

“Morning,” she said, waving with her mostly empty cup. Jaime smiled back at her. 

He hated Petyr Baelish. He hated how trapped he felt in this job. 

But he could never hate this.

“Is this Selena Gomez?” Brienne asked as she walked over to the barre and put down her bag. She scrunched her face.

“Yes,” Jaime confirmed. “And the music for our tango.” 

Brienne rose to her full height.

“Really?” she asked. Jaime couldn’t tell what her feelings about the genre were, if she was worried like he was. Jaime nodded. “Will it be good?” 

Jaime smiled. “Yeah, it’ll be super hard, but it’ll be great.” 

Brienne slipped off her sneakers. “Then let’s get started.”

—

Jaime hadn’t been lying — the tango he came up with was really difficult. It had five lifts, including the ending pose, where Brienne had to leap into Jaime’s arms before he held her basically upside down for four beats. All of Brienne’s movements had to be sharp, assured, and sexy. It had been difficult to fake elegance for the foxtrot. It had been hard to act like she loved Jaime while dancing the waltz, while trying to keep the truth of her heart a secret. 

But neither of those was difficult at all compared to this. As they danced, she had to press her body closer and closer to his, until she thought she could feel his heart beating against her chest. When he lifted her, his hands were on her waist, her hips, her thighs, all the places she wanted him to touch her, but not because they were dancing. Their bodies slid together in excruciating slow motion. When they tangoed, their faces were so close together, if either of them moved a centimeter, their lips would meet. She held herself straight. She wished she’d lean her head forward. She couldn’t lean forward.

By the end of the day on Wednesday she knew most of the steps, but she felt ridiculous doing them. Jaime had the idea to start the dance on a  _ bed, _ Brienne writhing around until she turned to Jaime, pulling him into her dance of seduction. Eventually, she stood on the sheets, and on the word “taste” she put her thigh over his shoulder and he picked her up. It was all  _ so much. _ She felt itchy under her skin, something constantly in the back of her mind that she just couldn’t scratch.

And Jaime was so  _ nice _ during all of it. He was encouraging and funny and sweet and considerate. He never touched her in a way that made her feel uncomfortable, always asking before he put his hands on her. It made everything easier. It made everything harder. 

At the end of the day, Pia made her film a little interview for her week’s rehearsal package. 

“How do you think it’s going?” Pia asked her from next to the camera. Peck was filming, seemingly uninterested in Brienne’s answer. 

“This week’s rehearsals are....really tough for me,” Brienne admitted, hoping Jaime was far enough away he couldn’t hear her. “Jaime’s choreographed such an amazing dance for us, but…” She searched for the right words, not wanting to sound quite as self-deprecating as she felt. “It’s hard for me to tap into that sexy thing the dance needs.”

“But do you think you’ll get it in the end?” Pia nudged. Brienne  _ knew _ Pia wasn’t purposefully trying to make her doubt herself, but it still stung a little. What if she  _ couldn’t _ get it? What if she embarrassed herself?

“I can’t lie, I’m worried about how it’ll turn out.” She took a breath. “But I believe in myself, and I believe in Jaime, and we’re going to make it work.” She smiled, hoping to project confidence and ease at the camera. 

But when she got home she still felt unsettled. She called her dad, she took a cold shower, she made herself dinner, she scrolled through Instagram, she watched a TV show, and she did a little yoga but nothing seemed to help her simmer down. She gave up and put on her pajamas and climbed into bed. 

She tried reading the novel on her bedside table, but none of the words were sticking in her brain. She set it down and closed her eyes, willing her body to relax. 

_ It would be easy to relax if Jaime were here, _ her traitor brain supplied.  _ I’d turn to the left and there he’d be, his arm around my waist. _

It was so simple to imagine what would happen next. He’d pull her closer and leave a kiss in her hairline. She’d reach out with her free hand and trace and lines of his face with her thumb. He’d smile when she reached his lips, and then she’d have to kiss him. She’d have to. And he’d kiss her back, gentle and slow. Then he’d flip them so she was on her back and he was on top of her, and slowly he’d slip his hand under her tank top, his fingers running up her side, reaching toward her rib cage. And she’d —

_ No,  _ she told herself, opening her eyes and sitting up. She couldn’t let herself fantasize about Jaime like that. Work was already hard enough; she didn’t want to have to fight against her own imaginings of his tongue circling her nipple or — Fuck! She was doing it again.

She could admit to herself, here in the privacy of her room, that this was the thing that was keeping her from sleeping, from relaxing, from feeling like a normal functioning human. She wanted Jaime, wanted him so bad that the only thing worse than when they were together was when they were apart.

It was going to be a long night.

— 

Friday morning, frustration was in the air. Technically they were nailing every movie. Jaime had talked Brienne into accepting a pretty ridiculous stunt at the end of the number, and she’d had a fitting for her ridiculously revealing costume (Her only solace was that Jaime would be shirtless, but she also knew that was going to drive her crazy, too). 

But Brienne couldn’t find herself believing in it. Her and Jaime doing this super sexy dance. A voice in the back of her head told her everyone was going to think she was ridiculous, trying to be something she never could. 

Normally if she felt she was fucking up a move, she’d talk it out with Jaime and they’d figure it out. But this wasn’t a move. It was an attitude. And telling him “It’s impossible for me to feel sexy” wasn’t something she could do. At least they weren’t filming until that afternoon.

After an hour of Jaime putting her through the paces and Brienne getting more and more frustrated with herself, he paused the music mid-dance.

“Will you tell me what’s the matter now?” he asked, his hands on his hips. “Or do I have to buy you more tacos to get it out of you?” Brienne wrinkled her nose.

“It’s fine, I’m figuring it out.” Jaime raised an eyebrow, unimpressed.

“We’re a team, Tarth. What’s going on?” 

“I don’t want to tell you,” she tried.

“So there  _ is  _ something going on.”

_ “Jaime.” _

_ “Brienne.” _

She groaned. “I just ... how am I going to be sexy?!” That clearly wasn’t what Jaime had been expecting. He took a step back

“What?” he asked. She didn’t want to repeat herself.

“Who’s going to believe I’m sexy?” she tried again. She crossed her arms and turned away from him a little. 

“If you don’t believe it, the audience won’t believe it,” Jaime tried. 

“I guess that’s what I’m saying — I don’t believe it.”

Jaime hummed, thinking. She wished she could gobble back up all the words she’d said, go back to when she didn’t feel so exposed. 

“I think you just need to reframe it.”

“Reframe what?”

“Your body. Or your sex appeal. Whatever. Come here. Please.”

She didn’t know why she obeyed, but she did. He stood her in front of the mirror, then came around behind her, putting his arms around her waist. She should be used to him touching her by now, but she still had to stifle a gasp of surprise when she felt his finger tips against the skin at her waist, the half an inch where her shirt and leggings didn’t meet.

“You know what I see when I look at you?” he asked, any teasing completely gone from his voice. 

“What?” she whispered back, afraid to break the spell.

“The best athlete in the world. Who could kick my ass if I wanted her to. And maybe I want her to...”

_ “Jaime.” _

Ignoring her, his hands moved down toward her hips,

“You have the most impossible legs. God, the first time I saw you I thought ‘thank god soccer teams wear shorts.”

“I was wearing sweatpants the first time you saw me,” she reminded him.

“Not last month. During the Cup.”

“June?”

“2015.”

He couldn’t be telling the truth. Could he? He kept going.

“That’s why there are so many dips in the choreography, to show off your legs. Whoever invented the tango must have been thinking of you and these legs.” His fingers traced the edge of her hips down to her thighs, then crawled back up. She couldn’t breathe.

“Your strength is just...incredible. But then you’ve got all these secret soft spaces. Like a surprise no one else knows about. Except you. And me.” Did he pull her tighter against him or was it her imagination? Their eyes met in the mirror. “And then you look at me like that—”

“Like what?” she dared to ask. Jaime sighed.

“Like you’re thinking what I’m thinking and it’s all I can do to remember a camera crew could walk in here any moment before I —”

He let go of her then and she almost whined at the loss of contact. He went and picked up his towel and wiped the sweat from his face, then turned around to face her, the towel in front of his body

“So don’t say you don’t have sex appeal, Tarth, like it’s an immutable fact.” All she could do was nod, her face on fire. “Let’s take five,” he said before leaving the room. 

After that, working on the tango was even worse. Physically it was punishing. Emotionally it was a roller coaster. They were acting: That’s what Jaime had said. Dancing was pretending.

But when his hands had been on her in front of the mirror, was that pretend? If it was, it was very good pretending. An Oscar worthy performance, in Brienne’s opinion. 

But then again, they had been spending eight hours a day together, every day, for weeks. Plus their little movie dates — not dates. Hangouts? Neither of them had mentioned it this week, which she wasn’t trying to read into. But being forced together like this, it would be easy to get their wires crossed.

And Jaime was a good teammate, she knew that. Maybe his little monologue had just been him team-captaining. Like when a play required her team to run faster than usual, Brienne would hype up the team about how speedy they could be. Maybe that was just Jaime’s hype up speech, reminding her she could be sexy because that’s what the dance required. It was what he needed to say to get the best performance out of her.

Sansa called her that night to check in, and Brienne didn’t mean to let all her feelings tumble out, but they did. 

“Maybe I’m just vulnerable because I ended things with Hyle,” Brienne added at the end. But that excuse felt false even to her own ears. She hadn’t thought about Hyle in weeks. She didn’t miss him for a second.

“Brienne,” Sansa said. “You know that’s not true.”

“Yeah,” Brienne admitted. She heard Sansa sigh.

“He likes you. And you like him.” Brienne wanted to interrupt, but Sansa kept talking. “You can decide what you want to do with that, but it’s true. Be with him, don’t be with him, wait until the show is over or don’t wait. It’s your choice. But you have to pick one.”

“But maybe he doesn’t like me,” Brienne cut in. Sansa sighed again and Brienne couldn’t help but wince.

“Brienne, I don’t know how to convince you he does. But even if we  _ pretend _ that’s a possibility, you will never know if you don’t take the chance of trying to find out.”

Brienne laid back on her couch and closed her eyes. “When did you get so smart?” Brienne asked with a little laugh. Sansa snickered.

“From listening to you, B. You’ve got this.”

—

Tech rehearsal on Monday felt like it took forever, as the director and crew worked hard to make sure the dance’s end stunt was going to impress both in person and on camera without being dangerous.

“Should I just tell them to cut the end?” Jaime whispered to Brienne while they were standing around, waiting for the lighting guys to figure out a cue. She’d been so nervous all week, it hadn’t occurred to her that Jaime was on edge, too. And this was Jaime’s  _ art, _ his vision. He shouldn’t compromise. He couldn’t.

“No,” Brienne said, putting a hand on his arm. “You made something amazing. You can’t cave now.” Jaime looked at her then, steady and sure, and she felt some of her anxieties melt away. 

“If it’s amazing it’ll be because of you,” he said, and for once Brienne let herself take the compliment.

“Both of us,” she said, and then the director called their names and they had to finish the rehearsal. When they were done, Brienne headed backstage to take a quick shower before getting ready for the show. 

Once she was cleaned and dried off, Selyse was on her, helping her get ready for the evening. She put a million products in Brienne’s hair, to make it look sleek but also voluminous. She spent a very long time doing a smokey eye that Brienne was worried was going to make her look like she’d been in a fist fight. But Selyse was a pro, and when she was done Brienne did feel kind of sexy. She tried to think of it as a costume, as slipping on the exterior of someone who looked like her, but wasn’t quite her. Someone sensual and self-assured.

All that was left was the dress. Well, it was more like a leotard with a skirt. Half a leotard with a skirt. 

A sparkling bodice cupped her breasts, helping give her the appearance of cleavage. Selyse worked hard to tape her in, so no one would be flashed during the performance. One side of the bodice had a long sleeve, with the other side was strapless. The skirt was asymmetrical, so one leg was completely visible, and her back was totally bare. Once she was dressed, she asked Selyse to take a few photos of her before she left so she could send them to her friends. 

It took mere seconds for Margaery to reply with a flurry of flame emojis. 

“Holy shit,” Asha wrote, then repeated herself. “Holy shit holy shit.” Sansa sent like forty exclamation points.

“Wish me luck,” Brienne typed, and once they all did she put her phone away. Like clockwork, there was a knock on the door. Jaime. 

“Come in,” she said, feeling anxious and unsure. What if Jaime didn’t like this costume? What if Jaime didn’t like her? Why couldn’t she be partnered with someone who didn’t make her  _ feel _ so much?

Jaime opened the door and stepped inside. She looked up at him and almost gasped. He wore perfectly tight black trousers — and that was it. His chest was fucking glistening. He was inhuman, a god sent here to torture her. Her mouth fell into a perfect O. 

Because of her own surprise, she forgot to pay attention to Jaime’s reaction to her. 

“Your chest hair,” she said instead. 

“They made me wax,” he grunted. She missed the hair, then tried to bat that thought away.  _ Just a few more weeks, _ she reminded herself.  _ Then you can see. _ She could do it. For most of the time she was alive, she wasn’t having sex with people, so why did it feel so difficult to stay away from this one person right now?

“Did it hurt?” she asked, looking away from his chest and back to his eyes. They twinkled with mirth.

“It did,” he admitted. “I don’t mind suffering for art, though.” 

“I don’t think the success of our tango is dependent on whether you have chest hair,” she said. 

“Chest hair isn't sexy,” he countered. 

“Who said that?” she asked, and he raised his eyebrows and she had to look away. 

“You think my chest hair is sexy?”

“We should go to the green room,” she said, walking past him to open the door. Jaime silently obliged. 

Their dance was last, which Jaime insisted was a good sign, that it meant the producers liked it. Brienne hoped he was right. As they watched the other teams from their perch on the couch, she tried to focus on what was important: crushing this dance so they could win. So Jaime could win. It didn’t matter if he wanted her, or if she wanted him, or if they were ever going to be together. All that mattered was this dance.

Soon it was time for their performance. Brienne laid down on the bed in the middle of the dance floor, and she could feel Jaime sitting on the side, dipping the mattress. She listened to the clips of their rehearsal, to her awkward soundbites. Then she heard Jaime’s voice. 

“It frustrates me when Brienne doubts herself, because I believe in her completely,” TV Jaime said. “But I think we’ve got something really special here.”

Brienne breathed in. She could do this.

“Dancing the tango with her partner Jaime, it’s Brienne Tarth.”

_ Can’t keep my hands to myself. _

Dancing while lying down had felt awkward during rehearsal, but here, doing the real thing, Brienne felt powerful. When she rolled over to Jaime and pulled him to her, she felt strong. When she wrapped her legs around his shoulders, she felt sexy, his hand so sure on her waist as he brought her down to the ground. 

As they moved through the paces, every time their eyes met, if felt  _ real. _ Every dip, every twist, every push and pull between them: It felt like foreplay, the way Jaime had choreographed it to be. For the first time in this competition, nothing about the dance felt like it was taking any effort. It was exhilarating. It was terrifying. She wanted to remember every second. 

When he dipped her, she didn’t have to try to keep her legs straight and sharp. When he flipped her upside down, it just felt fun. They were nailing it, and to know that was more powerful than almost anything she’d ever felt before. 

As the song started to end, Brienne ran on to a small stage that had been set up with an actual shower of water, mimicking a rain storm. As she got wet, Jaime followed after her. They finished the dance in the artificial rain, the water cooling her skin as it rippled around them, flying into the air. The black of her dress was mostly see-through, and Jaime was glowing under the lights. When he fell to his knees in front of her, she left like a goddess, accepting a disciple at her feet. 

At the end, Brienne jumped into his arms then fell back, Jaime holding her up in a dip with her feet in the air. They stayed like that for a moment while the crowd cheered, before he pulled her up into his arm. They hugged for another long moment, the water still splashing around them. Brienne wanted to say something, but she didn’t know what. Jaime let her go and, holding hands, they walked over for judging.

Brienne wasn’t surprised when they got perfect 10s. 

After the show, Brienne ran to her dressing room, wanting to take another shower and dry off. She was bone tired. As she reached the door, Jaime called her name. When she turned around, he was right on top of her.

Jaime grabbed her arm, not too hard but still commanding, and pulled her closer still, until her right thigh and his left were touching. He spoke right into her ear, a harsh whisper that sent a thrill through her.

“I know you haven’t danced much, so you might be thinking it’s always like that.” He didn’t have to specify. “But I want you to know it’s never like that. Never.”

He dropped her arm and looked her right in the eyes. She didn’t know what to say. She didn’t know what to do.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” he said, gruffly, before turning around and walking away. 

Once, during Brienne’s first year on the National Team, she’d gone to a bar with all her teammates. Some guy had come over to flirt with Melisandre, then walked away.

“I’m going to have sex with him tonight,” Mel had told Brienne, before doing just that. And Brienne had wondered what that felt like, that certainty that someone wanted you and you were going to have them.

Now she knew. 

—

Jaime couldn’t decide if he’d done the wrong thing. If he’d crossed a line he shouldn’t have crossed. If he wanted to take his words back.

He’d barely been able to pay attention during judging, he was so high on dancing with Brienne, on dancing with Brienne  _ like that. _ Like they were the only two people in the entire fucking world, like everything about them and between them was absolutely perfect, like they were inevitable, invincible.

So when the show was over he crossed a line. It had felt right. Now, he wasn’t sure.

Now, he was pacing back and forth in his apartment, half undressed. He’d changed into sweatpants and a tee when he’d gotten home, then immediately felt too warm and took off the shirt. 

He wondered if he should call Addam or Ellia for advice, but both of them had sent teasing texts about the performance to the group chat, and he didn’t want to deal with it. The only person he wanted to talk to was the only person he was pretty sure he shouldn’t, the person who he was barreling toward even though all his saner instincts told him to slow the fuck down. But another part of him, the romantic part, maybe, told him he had done exactly the right thing. If happiness was right in front of him, why should he stop himself from trying to have it?

His buzzer went off. Had he ordered food and forgotten? He walked over and hit the speaker button.

“Yeah?” he asked. 

“Can I come up?” The voice crackled through the speaker, but it was undoubtedly Brienne. He inhaled and exhaled slowly, then hit the button to unlock the door.

While he slowly counted the minutes it would take her to take the elevator up here, he looked around his apartment. He ran to the couch to adjust the pillows and fold the blanket that had been thrown haphazardly days ago, feeling not unlike his Aunt Genna. Just as he started to wonder if he should light a candle, there was a knock on the door. He scurried back over to the door and unlocked it.

And there was Brienne.

Her hair was wet, whether from their dance or because she took a shower, he didn’t know. Probably the latter, since there wasn’t a stitch of makeup left on her face. She had on a huge UNC crew neck sweatshirt and leggings and her eyes were shining bright, though she seemed a little bit unsure. He almost couldn’t believe his luck.

“Hi,” she said right away. “Sorry, I shouldn’t have bothered you.” She started to turn to leave, and he reached out for her arm again. 

“You’re not bothering me,” he said, his voice low. “What’s the matter?”

She hesitated, biting her lip. He felt like he saw the moment when she noticed he wasn’t wearing her shirt, her eyes popping out of her head for a split second. Then her eyes met his and she liked whatever she found there.

“What you said. About tonight.” He inhaled. “God, I should have thought of how to say this on the ride over.”

“How to say what?” he asked. He should tell her to go. He should tell her they should wait, or slow down. But he didn’t want her to go and he didn’t want to wait and he didn’t want to slow down. 

Brienne stood up a little straighter, almost imperceptibly so. “I want you,” she said, and he thought his heart might beat out of his chest. “And maybe I’m off base, but I think you want me, too.”

“I do,” he choked out before she could take it back. “I want you.” Her shoulders relaxed. “Brienne. Do you want to come inside?”

She nodded and he took a step back to give her room. But before he even had the door fully closed behind her, he put an arm around her waist, pulled her close, and kissed her. 

—

Brienne was kissing Jaime Lannister. Finally. 

His arms were wrapped around her and he was pressing her into his door, and she never wanted to be anywhere but here, in the circle of Jaime’s arms.

He was  _ such a good kisser. _ He was strong and assertive without being pushy. He was soft and warm and she finally let herself run her hands up and down his back and his ribs, the way she’d been imagining all these weeks. She tried to memorize the patterns underneath her fingers, the places where he was hard and soft. As he moved his kisses to her jaw, she felt the scratch of the little bit of stubble he’d acquired since shaving that morning. She wanted more: more of this, more of him. She had never felt this way — like a bottomless pit of desire — until she met Jaime. 

One of his hands slid down her leg, tracing the curve of her ass and thigh. She lifted her leg in response, until she had wrapped it around his waist, pulling him closer. He growled as his fingers stroked the back of her knee, his lips moving up and down her neck. 

“Jaime,” she murmured, her left hand running down up and down his chest. He stopped and pulled back. “Now I really wish they didn’t make you wax your chest.” He threw his head back as he laughed, and Brienne felt like she could feel her heart growing in her chest.  _ This man. _

“Well now you’ll have to stick around, Tarth, so you can compare the experience.” She put her arms around his neck so she could bring him down for another kiss, and he happily obliged. He pulled her leg closer, still, and she felt him hard and wanting where she wanted him, her thin leggings suddenly too thick. 

His left hand came around and picked up her other leg, and she yelped as she realized she was airborne, her back still against the door. 

“I’m too heavy,” she said, kicking her legs ineffectually. His hands gripped her tighter, their chests pressed together.

“I thought we already established that I’m strong enough for lifts,” he said with a smirk, and she kissed him just to get rid of it. She crossed her ankles behind his back and he was carrying her across the room.

“Bedroom?” he asked, and she giggled against the skin of his neck.

“I was thinking you could show me your home office,” she snickered. 

“I was trying to be polite,” he grumbled and she kissed his stupid, perfect cheek bones.

He carefully moved them down the hallway and into his room. The lights were off, but moonlight and the streetlights shined in through the window. Tenderly, Jaime brought her to the bed and laid her down. He kissed the top of her forehead then pulled back. She reached for him but he stepped away from her, and for a second a shot of fear ran through her. Had he changed his mind? Did he not—

But he was just turning on the lamps on the end tables. She kicked her shoes off as she watched him flick the switches. Then he took another second to fish some condoms out of the top drawer, throwing them next to his alarm clock before turning his attention back to Brienne. 

“Five condoms,” she said as she tried to wiggle her eyebrows. “Someone’s feeling confident.” Jaime smiled, sharp and sweet all at the same time, as he crawled over to her. 

“Three for tonight. Two for the morning.” Something in Brienne’s chest loosened at that.  _ The morning. _ It wasn’t that she’d thought he would kick her out in an hour or two, but to feel how sure he was in her? Nothing could compare.

She reached for him again and this time he obliged, falling on top of her and kissing her again. Brienne used to hate kissing Hyle, though she could never admit it to anyone. With Hyle, it felt like he was counting down the seconds of kissing he needed to get through before he could fuck her.

But with Jaime kissing was the main event. Yes, his hands were on her, slowly slipping under her sweatshirt, but it felt like part of the experience, not a hint that she should hurry up and let him fuck her. 

Jaime bit her bottom lip and she moaned, her back arching as she tried to press them closer together. 

“Jaime,” she said as she ran her hands through his hair, her thumbs rubbing circles at the nape of his neck. She kissed the tip of his nose and he smiled. “I feel like I’ve wanted you since the first moment I saw you.”

He put his hands on either side of her and pressed up onto his forearms. “The feeling was mutual, believe me. Addam and Elia have been making fun of me for weeks.” His hands found her rib cage. “Can I take your sweatshirt off?” 

“Please.” She sat up and together they freed her from her baby blue sweatshirt, leaving just her white tank top underneath. She remembered then that she wasn’t wearing a bra. Jaime’s eyes narrowed as he looked at her, all the skin they’d revealed together. It was so clear on his face how much he wanted her, that she almost laughed. “I thought you were acting,” she admitted.

Jaime, putting his hands around her waist again, looked confused. “Acting?”

She touched her hand to his jaw again. “You said dancing was acting. I didn’t know if you — if you really.” She inhaled. “I didn’t know if you really wanted me or you were pretending because it was your job.”

Something changed on Jaime’s face, but before she could even begin to decipher it he was kissing her again. They melted into each other, Brienne’s doubts pushed away once again. 

Jaime moved his lips away, pressing their foreheads together. “I’m not that good of an actor,” he whispered, rubbing their noses together. “This is me. I want you. Now that you’re here, I’m not letting you walk away.”

She wanted to say something clever and romantic back, but she didn’t have the words. So she kissed him again, pulling him toward her until they were both lying on the bed, side by side, kissing and touching. 

Jaime’s fingers ghosted along the edge of her tank top. “Can I take this off?” he asked as he came up for air. She nodded and he pulled it over her head. When she could see him again, he was grinning, awestruck at her. No one had ever looked at her like that. 

“Can I?” he asked again, and she knew what he meant and nodded. His lips touched her collar bone, traced the line down to her breast. As he licked one nipple, his hand reached her other breast. She moaned. “You like that?” Jaime asked, looking up at her, all devious and filthy. 

“Yes,” she said, more of a sigh than a word. He smirked. “Don’t stop,” she begged and Jaime’s efforts continued, moving from side to side. Even when she’d imagined this, it hadn’t felt this good or right. 

Eventually she felt greedy, and too warm. “Lay back,” she told him, putting her hands on his shoulder for emphasis. He released her breast with a wet pop that made them both giggle. 

Jaime lied back on his forearms, and Brienne stood for a second to get her leggings off. It took some effort, her sweat making them stick to her legs. Jaime watched with a lazy smile until she was done and jumped back onto the bed. 

“Can I?” she asked, and Jaime nodded. She mapped his torso with her lips — his chest, his collarbone, the muscles just above his hips. 

“You drove me crazy with that crop top,” she admitted when she came up for breath. He snickered.

“That’s what I wanted,” he admitted, and just for that she nipped at the skin at his waist, which, in truth, he seemed to really enjoy. “Please take my sweatpants off,” he said.

“Well when you ask so nicely.” 

Now they were both in their underwear, Jaime’s erection making itself apparent. But he didn’t say anything about it, didn’t try to pressure Brienne to touch it. He was content with everything she gave him. She felt like enough.

Jaime’s hand ran up her thigh, until he was touching her underwear. He asked permission again, then slid his fingers under the fabric, quickly finding where she was wet and wanting. But the angle was awkward, so she reached down to push her underwear off. Jaime helped liberate it from her knees, then went back to his task. With one finger, he stroked her clit while he looked up at her. 

“I want to use my mouth,” he growled. “Is that—”

“Yes!” She spread her legs wider, and Jaime wrapped his free arm around her thigh to hold it there. He dove in, his mouth and fingers making quick work, bringing her up so quickly. He was so good, paid so much attention to every tremor and gasp that she was flying in what felt like seconds, clenching around his fingers and distantly aware of his very talented tongue still going at it. 

“Fuck,” she said when she could form full words again. “Damn.” Jaime kissed her thigh, her hip, then crawled up to kiss her mouth. 

“Feeling OK?” She nodded. 

“I’m amazing. You’re amazing.” She kissed him — what a privilege to kiss him, instead of having to keep the fantasy of it locked in her heart. It was better than she’d imagined. When they broke apart, she reached over for one of the condoms. “And now I want you to fuck me.” 

“Yes, ma’am,” he said, standing up to take his boxers off and reveal his cock, thick and heavy. Suddenly, Brienne had the urge to wrap her lips around him, but she pushed it away. For later. 

Jaime kneeled on the bed and she opened the packet, taking out the condom and rolling it onto him while he kissed her neck again. 

“Do you want to be on top?” he whispered. She considered.

“Do you want me to be?” He scraped her shoulder with his teeth.

“Yeah,” he admitted. “I want to see you.” 

“OK, but you have to sit up.”

He sat against the headboard and Brienne straddled his legs. She took his length in her hand and sank down on to him. 

“Fuck,” Jaime said as she lowered herself. “Fuck fuck fuck.” His hands came around to squeeze her ass. “You feel so good, baby. So good.” 

She moved herself up and down, grinding her clit against him. Jaime looked so handsome, sweaty and golden and a little dazed as if he’d just finished a dance but instead it was because of her, because of what they’d done. She braced herself on his shoulders and kissed him as she drove them both closer to the edge. 

“Brienne, Brienne, baby, you’re so good.” He babbled as she kept going, one of his hands coming around to play with her clit. She couldn’t remember the last time she came twice in such short succession, but she knew it was going to happen now. 

She said his name over and over and she kissed him.

“I’m so close, baby,” he whispered. “Are you close?”

“Yes, Jaime, please. Fuck me, please.” He thrust up into her, his fingers speeding up and she was coming again. “Yes,” she hissed as she pulsed around him, and he followed a few moments later with a shout. They collapsed on top of each other, breathing in silence for a few moments. 

Jaime pulled away and took off the condom, knotting it off and throwing it out in the trash can in the corner. Brienne pulled a pillow in front of her, feeling suddenly a little too naked. 

“Bathroom?” she asked. She hadn’t even looked around the room — it was decently sized, with nice simple furniture and lots of windows. Jaime pointed to a door she hadn’t noticed. She padded across the room and quickly took care of business. She splashed herself with some cool water from the sink, still feeling warm all over. But probably that was because of the naked man waiting for her. 

When she re-entered the bedroom, Jaime was in bed, under the topsheet with the comforter pushed down. He’d lowered the lights somehow. He opened his arm with a hopeful look on his face, like he was afraid she’d say no. Who could say no to him? She slipped in beside him and his arm came around her shoulder, her legs intertwining with his. 

She looked up at him, her nose only an inch away from his. “Hi.”

“Hi,” he said back. “That was pretty good.”

“Yeah,” she agreed. “I’m sure we’ll do better, though.” He laughed.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. I’m very competitive, you know that.”

They stayed like that a long time, trading stories back and forth. Brienne told him more about the World Cup, about the Olympics, about growing up with her dad. Jaime told her about his siblings, his niece and nephews, all the ridiculous partners the show had paired him with before. It was slow and easy. It felt right in a bone deep way that Brienne didn’t have the words for. She’d have to send Sansa a fruit basket for getting her to agree to do this show. Two fruit baskets.

“I wasn’t going to do this,” Jaime mumbled into her hair at one point. One of her arms was wrapped around his back, while her other hand drew circles on his chest. 

“What?” she asked, trying to keep the fear out of her voice. But he pulled her closer still, assuaging her anxieties before she could voice them. 

“First I was going to make sure we were really, truly friends. Make you get tacos with me all the time, watch movies, whatever friends do. Then I was slowly going to woo you, so you couldn’t say it was too soon or that you were too tender from your breakup still. I’d take you to the observatory and the beach and I’d buy you ice cream on the boardwalk and when you got a little drop on your chin I’d kiss you right there and you’d think, ‘Oh.’ It was going to be incredibly romantic.”

“So what happened?” she said, smiling ear to ear.

He grinned against her head and she knew a terrible joke was coming

“I couldn’t keep my hands to myself.”

Brienne laughed for a solid minute, and Jaime joined in. Every one of his chuckles shook her body, and she pulled him closer and he pulled her closer. 

“I’m glad we didn’t wait.”

“Me too.” 

_ Excerpt From “Dancing With The Stars Week 5 Recap: Entertainment Weekly” _

_ The clear winners of the night were soccer star Brienne Tarth and her partner Jaime Lannister. Who knew that combining the tango with a Selena Gomez would lead to such sultry fireworks? One fan summed it up best on Twitter, writing, “If Brienne and Jaime had sex right there, I would have stood up and cheered.”  _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This week's dance is based on [Jana and Gleb's tango to the same song, Selena Gomez's "Hands To Myself."](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cDLuGAtWlo4) When this fic was more a plot bunny that couldn't go away and i started to look up DWTS performances to see if it could work, this was the dance that made me realize that IT REALLY, REALLY COULD. If you don't usually watch the videos I link to, you should watch this one.
> 
> Huge thanks to flythroughflames for giving pep talks and for reading this over. You're the best. 
> 
> I need to write my exchange fic so it'll be a while until chapter 6. Thanks for sticking with me.


	6. You're Where I Wanna Go

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Week 6 - Quickstep. Week 7 - Rumba. Week 8 - Contemporary.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi!! Thank you so much for all the comments on chapter 5. I will hopefully reply to them all soon, but know that they meant so much to me!
> 
> Here is a big chapter that covers three weeks. Originally I had intended for this to read kind of like a montage — quick scenes from the next three weeks — but I just kept writing. But I also didn't want to divide the chapter up. So! Hope you enjoy!
> 
> Also a quick trigger warning that in the week 8 section, there is a brief mention of maternal mortality.

Brienne woke up at 7 a.m. on the dot, no alarm needed. At first she didn’t open her eyes, and just stretched on her stomach. But when her foot hit someone else’s leg, it all came back to her. Jaime. She was in his apartment — in his bed. 

Some distant part of her wondered why she wasn’t anxious, or scared. The first time she’d slept with Hyle, she’d run out of the bed as fast as she could to brush her teeth and wash her face and tame her hair, afraid he would find her unworthy in the harsh morning light. But here she was lying naked in Jaime Lannister’s bed, and she was excited to see him just the way she was. What a thrill.

She rolled over and opened her eyes. He was sitting up, half covered by the comforter and playing on his phone.

“Good morning,” she said. He put his phone down to smile down at her.

“Good morning,” he echoed. “I was looking for somewhere to order breakfast from on Seamless. I was thinking bagels, if that interests you?” 

“We could make breakfast?” she offered. “I’m sure you have … eggs? Bread? Bacon?” He bit his lip, drawing her attention to his perfect lips. 

“We _could_ make breakfast,” he agreed. “But if we order breakfast we could spend the next twenty to thirty minutes in bed and have a quick appetizer.”

She laughed.

“That was very cheesy,” she said, finally sitting up. She didn’t bother to pull the sheet with her, and she felt a little smug when Jaime’s gaze flickered down to her chest. “Give me your phone.”

“I thought you said I was too cheesy,” he quipped before giving her his phone. 

“You are, but I didn’t say it didn’t work.” She tapped in her order and put the phone on the nightstand. “You tipped 25 percent.” 

She straddled his lap and put her hands around his neck.

“I’m very generous.”

“You better be.” Then he kissed her, and she thought she could spend her whole life like this. It was too soon to think things like that, she knew, but that didn’t make it less true.

When the delivery person rang the doorbell twenty to thirty minutes later, Jaime groaned very loudly before pulling on sweatpants and running to the door. While he was gone, Brienne found her tank top and her underwear. She was sitting on the comforter when he came back in with their bag of food, plus two iced coffees and a fistful of napkins. She took her drink from him, then the bag, and he crawled over to join her on the bed. 

“This is the good sandwich place,” he explained, and it was true — Brienne’s sausage, egg and cheese and her coffee with both _very tasty,_ though she couldn’t, in good faith, say the company had nothing to do with that. While they ate, they ranked their all-time favorite sandwiches, and Jaime promised to bring her to many of his favorite places in Los Angeles. The best sandwich she’d ever had was in Toronto, and he made her promise to take him one day.

They were making _future plans_ she suddenly realized, and it didn’t bother her for a second. But she wanted to be clear.

“Am I your girlfriend?” she asked, then blushed. Maybe it was too soon.

But Jaime smiled at her, so bright and open that she wondered how she’d ever found him annoying. 

“Well I was hoping, though I figured I’d wait a week before mentioning it.”

When their sandwiches and coffees were finished, and they’d done some more kissing, Brienne finally checked the time. 

“I should go home and shower before I have to meet you at the studio,” she said, with more than a little regret in her voice. Jaime frowned. 

“You could shower here and we could drive over together?” She wanted to say yes. But that was already butting up against the biggest thing they had to discuss. She sighed and laid back against the pillows.

“I don’t think we should tell people at work,” she said, looking over at him to gauge his reaction. “And I think us rolling up in the same car _might_ tip people off.” Jaime huffed and leaned back next to her. He took her hand in his, running his thumb over her knuckles.

“Unfortunately you’re right,” he said. “I was already...worried that we seemed too close.” Brienne sat up straighter. Jaime sighed. “I _thought_ I was doing a good job of keeping quiet about how...interested I was in you. And then last Tuesday, Pia told me that instead of the quickstep, Baelish wanted us to do the tango. She didn’t say why but —”

“He was trying to take advantage of our chemistry,” Brienne finished. Jaime nodded. “Well that sucks.”

Jaime squeezed her hand. “I’m not going to let Baelish and this show ruin what we have before we can even sort it out ourselves. We just have to be really careful. We can do that.”

Brienne was less sure.

—

The first rehearsal was _weird._ Jaime had never considered himself someone who lacked self control, but he’d also never had to dance with someone two and a half hours after they’d finished having sex. As he showed her the basics of the quickstep, it took all his self restraint not to lean over and kiss her to celebrate every little victory. 

_We just have to be really careful,_ he’d said, with Brienne still in his bed, barely dressed. A fool’s task. 

“This should have the same elegant vibe as the foxtrot, really,” he explained to her as he set her frame up. If he let his fingers brush along her arm for a second or two longer than he should have, who could blame him? “But it’s faster and a lot more fun.” 

“I hated the foxtrot,” she reminded him. She’d been a little stiff since they’d started rehearsal; he wondered if it was because of the cameras. 

“Well it will make this easier,” he said. “Probably.” He winked and she stuck out her tongue, defiant. 

When they finally took a break, they walked down the hall together toward craft services, not touching. Jaime stopped in his tracks. 

“Did you say you needed more tape for your knee? I can show you the supply closet.” Brienne looked taken off guard.

“Oh, yeah, I guess.” He motioned for her to follow him, and thankfully she did. He led her down two hallways until he found the closet he was looking for, and opened it, turning on the light. She walked inside, and he closed the door behind him.

“Did you really want to get me knee tape, Jaime?” she asked, a little grumpy but mostly sounding, if he could say so, _quite_ happy. 

“Well of course I want you to feel supported and taken care of,” he said, reaching behind her to get a roll of tape. He stepped forward, until her back was against the shelf. “And also I didn’t think I could get through the rest of the day without kissing you.” His face hovered in front of hers, an inch separating their lips. 

“Just this once,” she said, before leaning in and kissing him. It felt like Christmas, and Halloween, and his birthday all at once, to have Brienne here in his arms. They stayed like that longer than was probably wise. 

“We can’t do that again,” she said, when he opened the door for them to go back. He had almost forgotten the tape, but thankfully she had remembered at the last moment. 

“We won’t,” he said.

It was a promise neither was able to keep.

—

Jaime had freaked Brienne out a little with his foxtrot comment, but the quickstep was _a lot_ of fun. It was kind of like the unholy child of the foxtrot and the charleston, reminding Brienne of all the fun she’d had learning the jive. It was energetic. Jaime’s choreography for “The Lady Is A Tramp” was romantic, but thankfully it wasn’t quite as sensual as the tango. If they’d been put in a situation like that again, she didn’t think they had any chance of keeping their secret.

As it was, she wasn’t sure they’d make it more than three weeks. The way Jaime looked at her… Had it been like this the whole time? Had he always looked so happy and smitten? It was almost too much. 

And they were noticeably more comfortable together; even Pia had commented on it, though Brienne was pretty sure she didn’t have a clue as to the real reason why. But how could she _not_ be comfortable with Jaime now, when they danced all day, then spent all night together?

On Tuesday, Jaime had followed her home, and they’d ordered food and put on a movie and swiftly ignored it in order to enjoy each other instead. 

“I did want to see that,” Jaime admitted when the credits were rolling. 

“We’ll watch it one day,” she promised.

By Wednesday, apparently Addam and Elia both knew about their relationship, because they demanded Jaime bring Brienne to taco night at Ella’s. Brienne changed into a sundress after rehearsal before meeting them there, hoping to make a good impression, even though she’d met them all before. Now she was _Jaime’s girlfriend._ It was different.

But taco night was wonderful. Addam and Elia were as nice as always, making fun of Jaime for how smitten he’d apparently been over Brienne for weeks. It made her miss her own friends, who were off with the team. She wanted them to make fun of her, too. 

Ella was also effusive when she saw Brienne, kissing all sides of her head and giving her a big hug. “Our Jaime’s a good boy, but if he gets out of line, you let me know,” she said, and Brienne promised she would. 

“I’m sorry about all of that,” Jaime said, when they were in bed that night. “I know they can be a lot. And you haven’t even met my _siblings_ yet.”

“Don’t apologize,” she said. “I like that you have people who love you. I wouldn’t want you to be lonely.” And something about the way she said the word must have clued him into something, because soon she was telling him about her lonely childhood with her father on Cape Cod, how friendless she’d felt until college, and then how happy she’d been to make friends on the national team. How adrift she felt since retiring. How much she missed the east coast. 

When they reached the weekend, Brienne suggested that maybe they needed space.

“I need to like...buy groceries. Do laundry,” she said on Thursday night when she brought it up. She was sitting at the island in Jaime’s kitchen while he made them pasta. 

“I like grocery shopping,” Jaime said, and it was so tempting to tell him to come along.  
“Just give me two days,” she asked, and he agreed, even though she knew he didn’t want to. 

He didn’t even rub it in when she showed up at his apartment Saturday night with an overnight bag. “I missed you,” she admitted, more than a little embarrassed about how hard it was to stay away for a day, and he took her into his arms without a word. 

When the show came around on Monday, Brienne was more nervous than she expected. Had they practiced as hard as they should have? Had Jaime gone easy on her because he didn’t want to hurt her feelings? After their run through in tech rehearsal, she made him run it through with her one more time in an empty room backstage.

“What's gotten into you?” he asked, his hands on her hips. A week ago, every time he touched her she felt a rush of anxiety, worried if he could tell how badly she wanted him. Now, she felt secure. Wanted. Beloved. 

“I don’t want us to go home because you went easy on me this week,” she admitted, more than a little defiant. He raised his eyebrows.

“You think I went easy on you?” She shrugged.

“I don’t know. I think you might have, accidentally. And I know winning is important to you, I don’t—” He put his hands on her shoulders and kissed her forehead quickly.

“Winning would be nice, I won’t lie. But I already feel like a winner. If we go home this week or any week because we were too busy enjoying our lives? I don’t care.” She studied his face.

“You really mean that?” she checked. “You’re not going to dump me because I remind you of your biggest failure?” He laughed.

“My biggest failure? You’re my biggest victory.”

She kissed him then. How could he just say things like that? Then they ran through the dance three more times. In the end, they didn’t quite match the heights of their tango — how could they ever, Brienne wondered — but they were secure in their place at the top.

_Excerpt From “Dancing With The Stars Week 6 Recap: Entertainment Weekly”_

_Tarth and Lannister were riding high this week after last week’s epic tango performance, which has already racked up millions of views on Youtube. Their quickstep was a lot of fun and showed off a totally different side of their chemistry, but this recapper did miss the crackling sexual tension. There’s always next week._

—

Tuesday morning, Brienne woke to a text from her publicist. “Can you call me when you get a chance?” That couldn’t be good.

Jaime was still asleep in her bed, his blonde hair sticking out every which way on the pillow. His chest hair was slowly coming back, stuck at a stubbly length that tickled her breasts when they made love. She ran a hand through his hair, then rose and put on her robe. She stepped into the living room and called her publicist. Jaime came out of the bedroom just as she hung up.

“What’s the matter?” he asked. He’d put on one of her pairs of sweatpants, USA spangled up and down his leg. Despite everything, it made her smile.

“We’re in _US Weekly,”_ she said, handing him her phone. She watched as he read the article she’d pulled up: “Brienne Tarth & Jaime Lannister ‘Getting Close’ Backstage At ‘DWTS.’” 

At first Brienne had been panicked that the magazine really knew something, that someone had seen them together somewhere, maybe even caught them in a private moment. Maybe there were photos, undeniable proof of their ardor. But the only source for the article was an “insider” who said Brienne and Jaime seemed “closer than most pairs on the show.” Other than that, there was a lot of padding about how strong their chemistry was when they danced. The author even resorted to using tweets from fans as “proof.” The whole article seemed like more wishful thinking, than anything.

Or it would have been, if it wasn’t actually true.

Jaime finished the post and sat down, leaning his head against the back of the couch. For one horrified moment, Brienne was afraid he was going to tell her this was a bad idea, that it wasn’t worth it.

And then he opened his eyes and looked at her, and doubting him was the furthest thing from his mind.

“Well this sucks,” he said, and she laughed because what else was there to say. He spread his arm out along the back of the couch, and she took it as an invitation to cuddle into his side.

“I told my publicist it was true,” she told him. “And that we wanted to keep it a secret for now. I figured that was good for her to know.” He nodded against the top of her head. 

“We just have to be careful,” he said for the dozenth time in the last week. Brienne nuzzled closer into his chest.

“I don’t think that’s a long term strategy for success, Jaime. You’re not the best at being careful.” He growled, so low she felt it more than heard it. 

“I don’t know what else to do,” he admitted. “I hate feeling like there’s this thing hanging over us.” She knew what he meant. She kissed his sternum, right above his heart. 

“We’ll be OK.” She believed it, too.

—

As Jaime was teaching Brienne the basic steps of the rumba, the door to the studio burst open. Peck didn’t seem surprised at all, deftly turning the camera to get the intruders, so Jaime knew it was a set up. He didn’t know who the surprise was until he heard all the high pitch squealing.

“Brienne!” Sansa, Margaery and Asha yelled in unison, and Brienne ran to embrace them in a group hug. Jaime tried to school his face into a normal expression of happiness, the amount of happiness a work colleague would express for another work colleague, not the amount of happiness a lovesick fool would have seeing his girlfriend reunited with her best friends. 

Though Jaime had virtually communicated with the three women way back in week 1, he hadn’t actually gotten to meet them then, so Brienne introduced them all. He could tell from their knowing smiles that they, too, knew about his and Brienne’s relationship. Brienne had been right; keeping this a secret was going to be impossible.

They learned that Pia had organized another trip to the soccer field for them. This time, the four women were going to face off, and Jaime was going to be the goalie.

“That seems _very unfair,”_ he told Pia, already imagining how sore he would be the next day. 

“I’m sure your girl will go easy on you,” she said before leaving. _His girl._ Did that mean that she knew? Surely he was just being paranoid. He tried to shake the uneasy feeling off.

Asha, Margaery and Sansa left after a good half hour of watching — and heckling — rehearsal. When they were finally gone, and Brienne and Jaime were all alone, he worked her even harder. They were losing half of Wednesday to a field trip and had missed out on a lot most of their time today. They couldn’t waste the time they had left.

“It’s supposed to be sexy, Tarth,” he explained, putting his hands on his hips to make sure she was swaying them the right way. She looked down at him, all feigned innocence.

“I don’t know if I can be sexy,” she said, with a little fake pout. She danced toward him, but he didn’t move, instead wrapping her in his arms.

“Anything I can help with?” he growled into her ear. She moved her lips closer to his.

“There’s a camera in the corner,” she reminded him, her hands on his chest, keeping just a little difference between them.

“Fuck the camera,” he said. He let her go and stalked across the room, where he found his sweatshirt. “Whoops,” he said, throwing it over the camera. “That should buy us a couple minutes.”

“Jaime,” she said, only half scolding. She didn’t complain when he kissed her against the mirror.

—

Brienne’s apartment had been invaded. She’d barely had time to shower after getting home before her friends had descended upon her, carrying chips and pizza and margarita ingredients. 

“Give us all the details,” Margaery had said, once each of them had a margarita in hand.

“I texted you the details,” Brienne said. Sansa laid down across her lap, as if wounded.

“Not _all_ the details,” she said. “Tell us again.”

“I thought watching you dance on TV was hot,” Asha said. “But I don’t know how they keep that mirror from steaming up.”

Brienne blushed, but then gave into their demands, telling them literally every detail about what had happened between her and Jaime in the last seven weeks. They cooed and yelled and squealed, and Brienne found herself enjoying it much more than she thought she would. It felt like the high school sleepover she’d never had, giggling herself silly about a boy who’d stolen her heart.

“You’re absolutely disgusting,” Asha said when she was finally done. Sansa and Margaery shushed her, but she continued, “Look at her! She’s smitten! And tomorrow we’re gonna watch them moon over each other all day. She can’t even deny it!”

She couldn’t.

When her friends had finally returned to their hotel room, she washed her face, crawled into bed, and texted Jaime. It was late.

“Are you still awake?” He called her a minute later.

“Hi,” he whispered into the phone when she answered. 

“I miss you,” she said. “Is that silly?”

“I hope not because I miss you, too.” 

“Even though my friends are going to destroy you with soccer balls tomorrow?” He laughed. 

“Even then.”

On Wednesday night, Asha apologized for hitting him directly in the face — twice — when she brought two bottles of his favorite wine to dinner at Brienne’s.

—

At tech rehearsal on Monday, Jaime learned that Drogo and Dany had some huge blowout fight during the week, and were barely speaking. No one he asked would give him any details.

“Use your girl connection,” he whispered to Brienne as they watched another couple practice. 

“My girl connection?” she whispered back, thankfully amused.

“Girls tell other girls things. I have a twin sister, I know how this works.” Brienne rolled her eyes. 

“It’s not like that for adult women,” she said. But he begged her enough that she promised to do her best. He kissed her on the cheek in gratitude.

“Someone might see,” she protested, but not that vehemently, so he was pretty sure she didn’t mind. It was so hard to be careful when Brienne was near him all the time, looking so ridiculously kissable.

She had the answer by the time they reunited before the show. She was wearing this stunning red, sequin bodysuit, that had a long piece of matching fabric wrapped around her. It was flowy and sparkly, a little revealing and a little demure. 

“You look wonderful,” he said, standing in the doorframe of her dressing room. She smiled, and he knew he would never get tired of being with her, seeing her light up a room, seeing her light up for him. 

“Thank you,” she said, a little shy. It was sweet, but it also made Jaime just a little mad. Who were the people in Brienne’s life who had convinced she was anything less than amazing? He wanted to hunt them down.

“Oh,” she said, and then she gestured for him to come closer. She had a conspiratorial grin on her face. “Dany wouldn’t tell me what happened with her and Drogo, besides that they had a disagreement, but Missandei did. Apparently, Dany and Drogo were secretly hooking up. And then he thought she was flirting with Grey, and got all macho jealous.”

Jaime was surprised. “What a mess,” he said. 

“Yeah and apparently they got into the fight on camera, and then they would barely practice together the rest of the week. So Dany thinks Baelish is throwing them off this week, and she’s pissed.” 

Jaime loved fun gossip — he’d make sure to text it to Addam and Elia after the show — but something about this piece of info did set his teeth a little on edge. What if he and Brienne broke up? He didn’t care because of the show; he cared because he didn’t want to lose her in his life. But they were playing a dangerous game, right now, carrying on in secret. It was a tightrope they could fall off of any second.

Brienne must have realized some of what he was thinking, because she put her arms around him and pulled him close. “We just have to go dance right now,” she said. “And then we can go roll around your bed. OK?”

Jaime nodded and kissed her cheek. “Ready?”

—

“Dancing the rumba with her partner Jaime, it’s Brienne Tarth.” 

_That Arizona sky burnin’ in your eyes…_

When they’d danced the tango together, Brienne had felt so nervous. Now she felt steady and sure. It was the difference between a firecracker and a fireplace — one burned bright and short. The other burned long and warm. She’d take the fireplace.

Defining the relationship between her and Jaime had allowed her to relax as a dancer. She didn’t have to worry if she was reading into his movements, if he meant to look at her with so much smoulder in his eyes. When they were hanging out on the set, she worried someone would see through them and figure out their secret. But when they were dancing, they could just be themselves. They were just expressing the way they felt about each other. It was a gift.

_When I’m all choked up and I can’t find the words…_

The choreography was still a challenge, of course. Keeping in time with the rhythm was hard, and she had to remember to swing her hips back and forth with every step. Jaime had choreographed a split into the dance, and she was worried that she hadn’t stretched enough to make it. But when she lowered herself down, Jaime’s arms around her waist, she nailed it. Slowly he pulled her back up and they kept dancing. 

_But all I really know, you're where I wanna go..._

Brienne hadn’t seen _A Star Is Born._ Jaime had wanted to watch the movie this week with her — he loved it — but then her friends had come and the plan fell through. She’d make sure they watched it this week.

She spun a few times in the circle of his arms and then the song ended. He hugged her for a moment, and she prayed she’d never forget any of this. 

_Excerpt From “Dancing With The Stars Week 7 Recap: Entertainment Weekly”_

_Brienne Tarth crushed the rumba. Partner Jaime Lannister’s choreography made good use of her long limbs, and it’s clear how much she’s grown as a dancer. (This recapper can’t say if rumors are true that they’re sizzling chemistry has blossomed off the dance floor, but I wouldn’t be totally surprised if they were.) The routine wasn’t quite enough to get them the top spot this week, but they’re certainly within striking distance of that mirrorball trophy._

_—_

After the show, they decamped to Jaime’s, where he introduced her to the wonders of his very large bath tub. 

“It was the only thing I changed when I moved in,” he admitted. “Nothing gets rid of pain like a good soak in the tub.” They sat on opposite sides, her feet in his lap. He picked one up and massaged it. “Of course, it’s better with company.” He flashed her his most devious smile, and she melted.

Brienne would describe most of their sexual liaisons as pretty athletic, but not tonight. Jaime was slow and tender. He massaged both her feet in turn, his hands slowly traveling up her calves to her knees, her thighs, until it felt like her whole body was on fire. Only then did he kiss her, a soft and low simmer. 

Brienne straddled him then, wanting to feel him all over. She wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling him as closed as possible, but it felt like it could never be enough. She whispered his name over and over as she kissed his face, his neck, his lips, his jaw, his cheek, his chin.

Though the tub was spacious, it wasn’t quite large enough for what they wanted to do. Jaime helped her stand, then wrapped her in one of his big, fluffy white towels. He pulled one around his waist, too, then took his time helping her dry off. She made it as hard as possible for him, constantly trying to steal kisses. He pretended to complain — “Can’t have my sheets getting wet” — but he took longer than he needed to, enjoying her affections. Eventually they moved to the bedroom, sprawling on to the bed where they reached for each other almost in unison. 

Brienne laughed as his hands tickled her sides, his mouth finding her breasts. It had been just two weeks, but already he knew her body so well, and she his. He knew the way she liked him to touch her, the way her legs curled when she was close, all the ways she was discovering to moan and yell and gasp his name. But it was never boring — there was always something else to find in each other.

Brienne kissed her way down his chest, his abs, his hips, his thighs until she could take him in her mouth. They’d talked about this that first week; Jaime had been so _giving_ with his mouth, but had never asked her to return the favor. 

“I don’t want to make you do something you’re uncomfortable with,” he’d said. And she appreciated it, so much. And then she’d showed him how comfortable with it she really was.

Now she took her time. She traced a vein with her tongue, holding his cock at the base with one hand. She looked up at Jaime, who seemed positively wrecked. His hair flew out in every direction. One hand was clutching the sheets, while the other ran across his chin. She loved him like this, at her mercy.

His free hand came down and cupped the back of her neck. He didn’t push or pull her, but she liked the weight of him there. She licked the tip of his cock, then took him in her mouth again, hollowing her cheeks and moving up and down in slow strokes. Her free hand held onto his hips, while her other rotated at his base. 

He groaned out her name in the way that let her know he was close. He took his hand off her head, but she didn’t move. When he came with a gaspo, she swallowed him down. She released him with a wet pop and rested her head on his thigh for a moment. She could hear him catching his breath.

“Come here,” he said, finally, taking her hand and pulling lightly. 

“I’m tired,” she whined. He laughed and she pushed herself up onto her elbows, then crawled up his body until they were face to face. 

“Hi baby,” he said. Brienne never thought she’d be the type of girl who liked being called baby. It didn’t seem like the type of things big, strong girls who turned into bigger stronger women were supposed to want men to call them. But she loved it. It made her feel precious, and she’d never felt like that before. She kissed him then, slowly and thoroughly.

“Still tired?” he asked. She shook her head. “Great.” He gave her his predator smile again before flipping her over.

—

They talked late into the night. Jaime didn’t want to miss a second of the time he could spend with Brienne, like a kid at summer camp who’s afraid time is running out. He hoped time _wasn’t_ running out, but there was always the chance. He was holding on with everything he had. 

That night, he finally let himself complain about all the things that made working at _DWTS_ so annoying. It included things he’d purposefully shielded her from for weeks: Baelish’s machinations, the pressure for the professional dancers to ignore their injuries and push themselves harder, and the way they dangled his contract over his head every off-season, not making it clear if he was invited back until the last moment.

“Why did you decide to join the show at all?” Brienne asked. She booped his nose. “Not that I’m complaining.” 

“It was complicated. Elia and I had kind of hit the ceiling on the competitive circuit, so there was nowhere to go there for us. She was already interested in choreographing — and great at it. But that didn’t mean people were interested in her.”

“Well that’s absurd,” Brienned added, and Jaime was so fond of her.

“Of course it is,” he agreed. “But she just didn’t have the mainstream recognition she needed to land jobs. So when the show called, she decided to do it to try to raise her profile. And I followed because my own dancing dreams felt...unrealistic.”

Brienne curled into his side, her fingers running up and down his shoulder. She didn’t push him to explain, even though he knew she wanted to know. He loved her so much. He should tell her that soon.

“I want to start a big dance school, one day,” he admitted finally. 

“Why’s that unrealistic?” He laughed a little, sheepish.

“Because I don’t want it to be like the schools I went to, where they made kids feel bad for being too short or too fat, where they tried to make the boys as masculine as possible and the girls only went forward if they could be super delicate. A place where even the idea of making ballerinas do weight checks seems ridiculous, where everyone can play and explore and enjoy themselves, whether or not they can afford to be there.” He could see it in his mind’s eye, still, just as vibrant as he could years ago.

He kept going. “Like think about the fact that all the couples on the show are one man and one woman. I think ballroom dancing is a way to tell a love story. If you only let men and women dance together, you’re saying that’s the only love story worth telling.” He took a breath. “So that’s the sort of thing I want to fight against.”

“It sounds like an amazing dream,” she said. “You shouldn’t give up on it.” She pulled him closer.

“I just don’t know if I can do it,” he admitted. “I don’t know anything about running a school.” Brienne rubbed her thumb over his chin.

“I believe in you. I know that’s not enough—”

He took her hand in his. “That is enough.”

—

Week 8 was a curveball for both of them: contemporary. Usually Jaime avoided this genre every season, since the producers knew it wasn’t exactly in his wheelhouse. But apparently this year was different. He hoped it wasn’t a portent of things to come.

The music Pia gave him was, in his opinion, over-the-top sad. “How To Save A Life.” He started to plan steps in his mind when Brienne entered. 

“How was your night?” he asked her, trying not to smirk.

“I slept poorly,” she said, crossing her arms. “My neighbor got an annoying dog that kept me awake.” Jaime almost laughed.

“A dog? He sounds adorable though.” She raised an eyebrow. 

“The cutest ones are the most annoying.” He did laugh then. Pia quirked an eyebrow at them, but didn’t comment. 

“Alright, Tarth,” he told her. “Let’s get down to business.”

She stripped off her sweatshirt, put down her bag, and took out her heels.

“Nope, it’s another barefoot week.” She was happy about that, at least. “Contemporary.”

“What’s that mean, exactly?” Conscious of the camera on him, he tried not to seem too annoyed.

“It’s a lot different than anything we’ve ever done before. Your footwork will be similar to ballet, but the rest of your body moves around a lot more, almost freestyle. And the rhythm can be sort of whatever we want. It kind of looks like you’re just making it up as you go, but it’s actually really difficult.” 

Brienne walked up to him then, and put a hand on his arm.

“Are you nervous?” she asked, her voice low. He gave her an almost imperceptible nod. She nodded, solemn. That was all she needed. “Alright. We got this.”

He willed it to be true.

They had a tough time that first day. At least Brienne was familiar with the song and it’s rhythms, so that helped them keep from being totally in shambles. But she was, understandably, so used to learning a base step first before layering things on top. There was no base step here. It was challenging for him to teach and challenging for her to learn.

There’d be a lot of lifts in quick succession, Brienne going from the ground to the air and back again. It was a real workout.

At the end of the day, Pia pulled Brienne aside to film a talking head. Jaime played around with his things in the corner, trying to listen in. 

Pia said, “Brienne, I know your mom passed away when you were young —”

Jaime’s ears perked up. She was supposed to be asking about dancing, not Brienne’s trauma. 

“— is that informing the way you perform this dance with Jaime.

“I — uhh — I —” she stumbled over her words. Jaime clenched his fists. He didn’t want to save her if she didn’t need it, but he didn’t want her to think she was on her own, either. He dumped all the items from his bag on to the floor and started to put them back, one by one, just to have an excuse to stay.

“It’s a song about trying to save a loved one’s life,” Pia said. “And it’s going to be a very emotional dance. So I didn’t know if you were making that connection, to your own loss.”

“Jaime’s a great choreographer and I’m sure he’s going to make something that shows off both our talents beautifully.” A pivot. Good job.

But apparently Pia wasn’t happy with it. “I just wonder what it’s like dancing, and knowing your mom isn’t here to watch.” Jaime ground his teeth. He took his time tying his shoes.

“Everything in my life is hard because my mom isn’t here to watch. I wish she’d been here to watch me win two World Cups. I wish she’d seen me graduate from high school, from middle school. Of course I wish she could see me dance now.”

Jaime looked up then, and Brienne’s eyes were swimming with tears. He stood up. 

“I’m sure this must be hard for you to talk about,” Pia said. “How exactly did she die?” Brienne gasped.

“I —”

“That’s enough,” Jaime said, walking over to them. “You’re not going to ambush Brienne so you can get your stupid talking head.” He looked at Brienne; if she’d waved him off, he would’ve stopped. But she nodded.

Pia defended herself. “We weren’t ambushing her —”

“You were,” Jaime said. He put out his hand, and Brienne took it. “If Brienne wants to talk about her mom, she’ll think about it and she’ll decide. _She’ll decide._ You can’t just make her … drag up her trauma for your dumb TV show.” 

Brienne led him out of the room, grabbing her bag on the way. They walked to the parking lot in silence. When they got to her car, she turned to face him. She was crying. 

Not even thinking, he took her into his arms. He held her against his shoulder for a long while, tiny sobs wracking her body. He closed his eyes when the tears started coming for him, too.

“I’m sorry,” she said after a few minutes, pulling away. “Usually I can talk about it. I just didn’t expect it.”

“You have nothing to apologize for,” he said, running a hand up and down her back. “I hated that they did that to you. It wasn’t fair.” 

She looked around the parking lot, suddenly remembering where they were. “We should go,” she said. He nodded.

“Do you want to be alone...or?” He wanted to be with her, but he wouldn’t act like he knew what was best.

“Follow me home,” she said as she let him go. “I’ll see you in a few.” She got into the car and he watched her pull away before he followed.

—

Brienne forced Jaime to wake up earlier on Wednesday so they could get to the studio earlier than they had been. She needed more time to warm up and stretch her legs. Last night, Jaime had shown her contemporary dance videos so she could try to understand the vibe better, and mostly what she got out of it was that she was going to need to be very flexible. 

She wished they could just take one car to work together. She wished they could walk into the studio hand in hand. She wished that when he joked around, she could laugh full throated and not worry that she was giving their secret away.

But the situation was already tense enough, especially after yesterday. Brienne was so grateful that Jaime had given her a lifeline to get out of there, but she was worried that it had confirmed for Pia — and, ultimately, Baelish — that something _was_ going on. 

They didn’t see Pia all morning, focusing instead on the dance. Jaime wanted to finish teaching her all the choreography today, even if they weren’t nailing it, and then they’d go over it repeatedly until every dip and twist and lift felt like second nature. By the time they broke for lunch, Brienne was exhausted. As she slipped on her shoes to walk down to crafty, the door opened and Podrick the PA walked in, with two iced coffees in his hand. 

“I thought you might be tired,” he said, holding out the coffee. Brienne sighed in relief. 

“This is a lifesaver Pod, thank you.” He nodded. Jaime swooped up next to him and took his coffee with a quick “thank you.”

After lunch, they filmed rehearsal. Brienne could feel herself getting better at the dance as they went; the rhythm slowly made more sense. And the lifts were much easier than they’d been the very first time she tried one, because she trusted herself as a dancer, and she trusted Jaime completely. It was a heady mix of emotions that left her flying high every time the music stopped.

Near the end of rehearsal, Pia appeared again. She kept to the corner, not wanting to interrupt, but Brienne could sense the tension anyway. 

“I think that’s good for today,” Jaime said after their last run through. Brienne nodded. He squeezed her shoulder before walking over to his water bottle and bag. She knew he was still listening.

“I really want to apologize, Brienne,” Pia said, sounding genuinely contrite. “I —” She sighed. “There are a lot of pressures here, on our performance.” She didn’t have to say Baelish’s name for Brienne to catch the meaning. “And I let the pressure get to me, and I treated you so poorly. It’s not an excuse. I promise I won’t do something like that again.”

Brienne knew it wasn’t totally true; Pia would always push her to say more than she wanted to. It was her job to make good TV. But Brienne appreciated the apology nonetheless. 

“Thank you,” she said. “We can film a new talking head tomorrow.”

—

Brienne was all nerves before the show. The dance was _so hard,_ not just for her, but for Jaime too, and he didn’t want to let her down. A week or two ago, they could’ve gotten away with a subpar dance, but competition was too stiff now. 

If they were alone, he would calm her nerves with kisses. Even if they didn’t help, at least they would distract her. 

Instead, he just had jokes and quips and running commentary about the other couples. They took their customary spot on the couch in the green room, and he used their proximity to whisper in her ear, to run a hand up and down her arm. 

“We got this,” he told her before they went on.

“We do,” she agreed.

Jaime sat on the steps on the stage while he waited for their song to start. Their rehearsal video played. Video Jaime talked about how difficult contemporary would be for them. Video Brienne gave a generic quote about how hard they were working.

Then the tone changed. “It’s a very emotional dance,” Video Brienne said. “I’ve been thinking a lot about my mom. She died when I was just a kid. She was giving birth to my baby sister. Neither of them made it.”

Jaime watched the real Brienne stand stoically on the stage. He wanted to go to her. He couldn’t until the music began. 

Video Brienne continued. “America has one of the worst maternal mortality rates in the world. It’s even worse for black women. It doesn’t need to be like this. If I can help do something about that, to raise awareness, it would be a gift.”

She talked about her mom and a birthing center she’d helped raise funds for in Boston, and Jaime was deeply impressed. She was such a smart, talented, generous, kind woman, and she wanted to be with him. What a fucking gift.

“I miss my mom every day. I wish she’d been here when I graduated from high school, when I won two World Cups. And now, when I’m dancing.”

The clip ended. Jaime wiped his eyes. 

“Dancing contemporary with her partner Jaime, it’s Brienne Tarth.”

The piano music began. _Step one, you say we need to talk._

Jaime walked over to Brienne. She fell into his arms and they were off.

As they danced, Jaime could tell it wasn’t their most technically skilled performance. After all this time, he still felt slightly uncomfortable dancing contemporary, so he knew that made it basically impossible for him to really teach Brienne after a certain point. 

But she was stunning to him, always. Having her in his arms, dancing with her like this, flipping her through the air — it was a gift. Even if he and Brienne spent the rest of their lives together, they might never dance like this again. He tried to enjoy every moment of it. 

They came to the end of the dance, where Jaime held Brienne almost upside down and spun them both in a circle. Softly, he helped her land, then pulled her into an embrace as the song ended. The crowd cheered, and Brienne looked at him, tears in her eyes. He wanted to kiss her then. Instead he took her hand and they walked to the judges.

Their scores put them right in the danger zone of going home. It wasn’t that the dance was bad; it was just that everyone else was so good. Myranda seemed legitimately upset to put them so low, which Jaime appreciated. They wouldn’t know their ultimate fate until next week. Hand in hand, they walked backstage, right to Brienne’s dressing room.

Inside, she sat on the small couch, and he plopped down next to her.

“Are you OK?” he asked. “I know that was really emotional. I’m so proud of you.”

She turned to face him, her eyes big and wide and just a little teary. She squeezed his hand.

“That was really great,” she said, her voice a little hoarse. “I don’t care that they didn’t like it.” She put her free hand around his neck. “I liked it. I like you.” She touched his nose with hers.

“I liked it, too,” he said. He knew better than to do this here, but he leaned in and kissed her, slow and light. A promise of more.

Suddenly, the door opened and they sprung apart at the noise. Baelish was standing in the door frame, grinning from ear to ear.

“I see,” he said. Jaime thought he’d say something else, but he turned and closed the door behind him. He didn’t slam it; he didn’t have to. They got the message.

“Fuck.” 

_Excerpt From “Dancing With The Stars Week 8 Recap: Entertainment Weekly”_

_Contemporary proved a massive challenge for Brienne Tarth. While the emotional core was there, her technique wasn’t 100 percent and her dancing was noticeably sloppier than her competitors’. She needs to regain her focus for next week, or she and Jaime Lannister just might be going home._

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whew!   
>  The week 6 quickstep is    
>  [ Kelvin Fletcher and Oti Mabuse’s performance from Strictly Come Dancing ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9wTqfqPkOY8)   
>  . Every other quickstep I watched lowkey sucked. This one rules. Then I watched a bunch of Oti’s dances for like half an hour, including    
>  [ this racecar-themed salsa ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Tb1XiqnZ5JU)   
>  that I deeply regret I cannot include in this fic. 
> 
> The song for week 7 is “Always Remember Us This Way” from A Star Is Born. Here’s   
> [ a rumba-fied version ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pN9J6JUuRy4)  
>  I found on youtube. I imagined the choreography and costumes as similar to   
> [ this Heather Morris and Maks Chmerkovskiy rumba ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mf2ID4DX2gU)  
> . Longtime readers will remember this song also inspired the title to All Choked Up. It also gives the title to this chapter.
> 
> The week 8 dance is   
> [ Alexis Ren and Alan Bersten’s contemporary to “How To Save A Life.” ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=slIOwxk9nOw)  
>  If you watch the clip, Alexis talks about her mom’s death, which inspired the plot here.
> 
> The United States does have   
> [ terrible maternal mortality rates ](https://www.vox.com/2020/1/30/21113782/pregnancy-deaths-us-maternal-mortality-rate)  
> , and they are unfortunately much worse for black women. Here’s   
> [ a good list ](https://rewire.news/article/2020/05/08/how-you-can-help-black-mamas-this-mothers-day/)  
>  from earlier this year about things you can do to help support black mothers. 


	7. I've Had The Time Of My Life

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Week 9 - Freestyle

They made it out of the week eight show alive; Dany and Drogo were sent home, and neither seemed that upset about it. Brienne kept waiting to see Baelish again backstage, to hear what he had to say about her and Jaime’s relationship, but he stayed away. For now.

She washed off her makeup quickly and drove home. She supposed now she and Jaime  _ could _ leave in the same car, since their secret was out, but that would leave his car stuck in the studio lot. 

_ Their secret was out. _ She should be able to exhale, but it only made her more nervous. What would Baelish do to them or ask of them now? Would they be in  _ Us Weekly _ again tomorrow? Would the show want them to confirm their relationship on camera? Is that what Jaime wanted to do?

Though the questions circled around her head the whole drive home, she couldn’t bring herself to mention it once she and Jaime were inside her apartment, sitting on the couch and trying to decide what takeout to order for a late dinner. It felt too big to discuss. She was afraid.

Brienne’s phone rang, and she jumped 100 feet in the air. Was it her publicist? Was it Baelish?

It was her father. 

“Hi dad.” Wordlessly, she gestured to her bedroom with her head and got up off the couch. Jaime nodded his understanding, then whispered that he’d just order the pizza she liked. She smiled and walked into her room, sitting on the bed, her back against the headboard.

“Hi, sweetheart. I just wanted to see how you are.” It was nice to hear her father’s voice, strong and crackling in her ear. She missed him.

“I’m good,” she said reflexively. Brienne looked at the clock in her room and quickly did timezone math in her head. “Isn’t it a little past your bedtime?” she asked. She hoped it sounded like a joke, not like she was treating him like a child.

“I wanted to call you after the show, but waited until I thought you were home. You are home, aren’t you?”

She smiled. “Yes, dad.”

“Good. I thought you danced beautifully. I was sorry the judges didn’t like it more. Missandei and Grey taking the top scores? Seemed like a set up.” Brienne laughed and laid back onto her pillows. On her dresser, she had a photo of her and her dad, standing on the beach, both wearing sweaters he’d knit them. She wished she was there right now. She wanted to take Jaime with her. 

“It wasn’t our best outing, but I’m proud,” Brienne said. “Jaime isn’t really an expert in the type of dance we did, but we made it through.” Selwyn hummed thoughtfully. 

“Do you like him?” he asked. “You dance well together, but he’s a respectful man, right? I know you’d punch his lights out if he wasn’t…” Selwyn laughed; Brienne  _ had _ punched out a boy in high school who’d groped her in the hallway between classes, and Selwyn had defended her so she didn’t get suspended.

“Yes dad, he’s respectful,” she said with a sigh. She looked at the beach photo again. She could do this. “Actually, I need to tell you something. Jaime and I are dating. I mean, he’s my boyfriend.” 

Selwyn didn’t respond. Brienne clutched her phone tighter. She gave him space to feel it out.

“Oh,” he said, finally. “Do you think that’s wise?” Brienne’s heart dropped. “What I mean is,” Selwyn continued, “it must be a very intense environment. All that dancing and rehearsing and being together. It might be...circumstantial.” Brienne said nothing, so he added, “Not that I don’t want you to be happy. I just think you should be careful.”

“Yeah, dad, I understand.” And she  _ did. _ Selwyn Tarth had lost so much, his wife and son and daughter. He had been young when Brienne’s mother had died, but he never opened his heart to another person again. They’d never talked about the sad reality, but she’d always assumed he was too afraid to risk the loss again. She’d let that idea permeate her own understanding of love. It was part of what had made Hyle a seemingly an ideal boyfriend; she knew she would never love him enough to get hurt by his absence. 

“But,” she told her dad. “I don’t think it’s circumstantial. I think we have something really special — I was thinking that when the show is over, I might bring Jaime out to the Cape with me, so you can meet him.”

She thought she heard Selwyn grunt. “You’re welcome to,” he said, finally. “It’ll be nice to have you home.”

—

As Jaime got the pizza from the delivery person, Brienne came out of her room, no longer on the phone. She seemed less tense than she’d been since Baelish had discovered their embrace, which he was grateful for.

“How’s your dad?” he asked, walking across the room to carefully place the food on the coffee table. Brienne grabbed the pizza cutter, plates and napkins.

“Good,” she said. “He wanted to congratulate me on the show. Thought we got robbed with the judges’ scores.”

Jaime smiled. His own family had never really watched the show, except Tyrion’s wife, Tysha, who would text him from time to time. He was glad Brienne got that support from her dad.

“And I told him we’re together,” she added before taking a bite of her pizza. Jaime’s eyebrows shot up, and he put his own plate down.

“Really?” he asked. She smiled at him.

“Yeah, really. I told him I was going to invite you out to the Cape as soon as I could, and then you can meet him. Assuming you want to come.” Jaime had seen photos of Brienne’s dad around her apartment, but as he imagined meeting such a giant in person, he feared he’d never measure up to his expectations. Brienne must have seen the panic on his face, because she added, “He’s going to like you. I’m sure of it.”

“Then I’d love to go.”

They chatted as they finished their dinner, still ignoring the questions that most needed to be addressed. Truthfully, Jaime didn’t want to deal with any of it just yet. In the past month, he’d come to cherish these Monday nights with Brienne, decompressing after all their hard work. He didn’t want Baelish or the show to invade this sacred space they’d built together.

But it couldn’t last.

They were in Brienne’s bed, under the covers, wrapped together, when she finally brought it up.

“What do you think he’s going to do?” 

It was the question that Jaime had been trying to find an answer for all night. 

“I don’t know,” he finally confessed in the quiet of her room. “He might just leave us alone, which...unlikely. He might want us to say we’re together tomorrow, and film talking heads about it, and even go on  _ Good Morning America _ or something to talk about it.” Brienne groaned. 

“He can’t really  _ force _ us to, can he?” Jaime shook his head.

“Physically? No. But he could kick us off the show for not agreeing.” He put his arms around her waist and pulled her a little closer, grounding himself. 

“Would he do that? Wouldn’t the fans be mad?” One of her hands was combing gently through his now-returned chest hair; he focused on the sensation.

“Yeah,” Jaime said. “I think he would do it. Our numbers were low enough this week, they could justify it easily. The fans would be sad for a week, but they’d get over it. They’re loyal to the show. Probably I would be permanently fired, too.” Brienne bit her lip. He wondered what she was thinking about. 

“Do you think we’re going too fast?” That wasn’t what he’d expected. It must have shown on his face, because she added, “I just mean, it hasn’t been that long. We spend a lot of time together because of the show, and because of this, and maybe when it’s all over we’ll realize we don’t like each other as much.”

“Do you not like me as much as you thought?” he asked. It wasn’t what he meant to say, but she’s made him feel a little scared and insecure.

“No,” she said, bracing herself with a hand flat on his sternum. “I like you so much. It’s just something my dad said. And now, you might lose your job because of me. I don’t… I don’t want you to regret this.”

Jaime shook his head. “I don’t. I would never.”

“You can’t promise me that.”

“I  _ can,” _ he said, hoping his words could be enough. She nodded. 

“OK,” she said, then nodded again. “OK. Then I think we just go about our week like it’s normal. And if Baelish gives us any ultimatums, you can decide then.”

“What?” Jaime asked. “We don’t have to go public if you don’t want to.”

“I know,” she said. “I wish we could just stay like this for a little bit longer. This is all still so new, and I don’t want to put it under a microscope for everyone else yet. But when this season is over, I never have to dance again. This is your life, your job, and I can’t ask you to jeopardize all of that for me. It wouldn’t be fair.” 

Jaime nodded. “Hopefully it won’t come to that.”

—

Tuesday morning Brienne checked her phone, delighted to see that they hadn’t gotten another tabloid write up. She shot a quick text message to her publicist to give her a heads up, then sank back into bed with Jaime. They had time, it seemed.

After breakfast, they squabbled over getting to rehearsal. Jaime said that if Baelish knew, probably everyone else on set did, too, so they may as well take one car. While this appealed to Brienne’s environmentalist heart, she wasn’t sure it made sense if they were holding on to hope that they could make it through another week without going public.

“If anyone says anything, we’ll tell them I had car trouble and you swung around to pick me up, alright?” Jaime offered. “But I don’t think anyone will say anything.”

He was right. Pod and Peck and Davos and Pia all acted like nothing was out of order at all, but Brienne still felt on edge. While she did some stretches in the far corner of the room, she heard Pia tell Jaime that this week was movie night, and she and Jaime had landed “(I’ve Had) The Time Of My Life.” Brienne gasped. 

Pia looked at her with alarm. “It’s Brienne’s favorite movie,” Jaime said, assuring the producer. “It’ll be a great week.” 

They filmed for two hours, mostly Brienne and Jaime talking about the movie and him showing her a handful of steps. He explained that he’d actually have to make the choreography harder than the film for them to still get full credit from the judges. “But I promise to keep all the little things you love,” he added with a smile.

“Is the lift going to be….a challenge?” she asked. She didn’t want to speak negatively about herself, but she knew holding someone as tall and heavy as she was in the air for a few seconds wasn’t going to be a walk in the park.

Jaime shook his head. “It’s way easier than it looks. Addam used to use it as a move on girls all the time, like in that Ryan Gosling movie. We could do it right now.” 

“Maybe tomorrow,” she said, and Jaime laughed and moved on. 

When they broke for lunch, Peck, Davos and Pia left them alone for a moment. 

“Is this song a bad sign?” she asked. 

“Because it’s so romantic?” Brienne nodded. “Yeah, I’m worried they’re gonna try to push the love narrative on us. But let’s not worry until we have to, OK?”

Brienne snorted. “How’s not worrying working for you?”

“Terribly, but we can only try, right?”

Wednesday, when they hadn’t started filming yet, Jaime walked her through the lift which was, as he had promised, not too challenging. The trick was Brienne putting her hands on Jaime’s shoulders as she jumped up, so that they were both actually lifting her into the air.

“Ahhh!” she shrieked the first time he got her up there. “Oh my god oh my god oh my god!”

“Are those good ‘oh my gods?’” Jaime asked from below her. 

“Yes! Ahh holy shit! Let me down!” Jaime laughed.

“Ok, I’m going to let you down slow, and you’re going to put your arms around my neck as soon as you can, OK?”

“Yes!” He did just that, and in a second she was earth bound again, her arms around his neck, holding him close.

“That was amazing,” she said, grinning from ear to ear. “It was like...flying? Is that silly?”

“Not silly.” He grinned. “Obviously we have to do it in time to the music and whatever, but yeah, that’s it. Let’s get to work.”

The night before, Jaime had sat at Brienne’s table and watched the original dance over and over, thinking of ways to enhance and complicate it, without taking out the parts that people — and Brienne — loved the most. Now, he was impressed by how much of the original choreography Brienne knew by heart. She had lots of good ideas herself about what they could enhance or change, and strong opinions about what shouldn’t be changed. She fought particularly hard for him to leave most of the beginning alone, and who was he to give her anything less than what she wanted? 

After lunch they filmed again, and both of them were very happy with how the dance was progressing. The hardest part, really, was keeping their hands to themselves, and their faces neutral. It  _ was _ such a romantic dance, and Jaime felt all gooey getting to do this choreography with Brienne.

Pia said they definitely weren’t going to use footage of the lift in the package, wanting to save the surprise for the show, so they focused on other things with the cameras rolling — a split Jaime had added, some fancy footwork he was certain they’d nail. Brienne did a very funny impression of Patrick Swayze’s hip grinding that made Jaime and Pia both laugh.

The time passed quickly and soon they were wrapping it up for the day. Pia pulled Brienne aside for her talking head and Jaime, once again, lingered in the room, taking time to carefully place his things in his bag and slowly change his shoes. 

“So  _ Dirty Dancing _ is your favorite movie?” Pia asked. Brienne laughed and talked about it for a bit. She even mentioned that she and Jaime had watched it together earlier in the season, when she’d found out that he’d never seen it. The memory of it made Jaime smile, too. 

“That must have been cozy, just the two of you,” Pia said. Jaime’s stomach dropped. 

Brienne tried to pivot. “It was good bonding for us as a pair, and I think it helped our chemistry as dance partners.” He prayed it would work, but knew they were doomed.

“Right, but you both have chemistry as more than just dancing partners.”

“We’re good friends now.” Jaime heard the hard edge in Brienne’s voice now; he wondered if Pia couldn’t discern it, or she was just ignoring it. He kept his eyes on his shoes.

“And a friendship is a good foundation for a relationship, no?” Pia still didn’t come out and say it. 

“What are you implying?” He looked up then. Brienne’s arms were crossed at her chest. 

Forn her part, Pia didn’t back down. “I’m saying that my boss told me the pair of you are dating, and that’s what this week’s rehearsal package is supposed to be about. Your love story.”

And there it was. All the cards were finally on the table. 

Jaime shot to his feet, but a look from Brienne told him to stay where he was. That was fine. She could handle herself. He crossed  _ his _ arms and watched. 

“Your boss didn’t ask me, and he didn’t ask Jaime, if we wanted to do that. I know I agreed to do this show, and I’m grateful for most of the experience, but I didn’t sign up to have my life picked over and prodded for people’s entertainment. And I’m not going to let it happen against my will.”

Jaime thought Pia’s shoulders slumped minutely.

“It’s really not up to me, Brienne,” she said. “Baelish gave his marching orders.” Brienne nodded.

“Then that’s who we want to talk to. Baelish.”

Pia said some words into her production walkie talkie. Someone responded with something Jaime couldn’t quite make out. But it must have been affirmative, because Pia told them to wait five minutes. She and Peck left the room, leaving just Brienne and Jaime.

“Are you OK?” he asked her. He walked over and took her hands in his. Brienne nodded. 

“Did you decide what you’re going to tell him?” she asked. Jaime blanched. 

“I don’t have to decide alone,” he said. She squeezed his hands.

“This is your life,” she said. This  _ was _ his life, it was true. Dancing with new partners and smiling for the cameras and striving toward a goal he was pretty convinced production never wanted him to achieve. Spending months worrying they weren’t going to ask him back, until he got his contract at the last minute. This year, with Brienne, he’d had fun. He’d made dances we was produ of. But next year? The year after?

He shook his head. “No, this isn’t my life. I’m...I’m good. I don’t care about this show. I care about you.”

Brienne blushed bright. He felt his own heart beating a staccato tune.

“Yeah but isn’t winning this show your dream?” she asked. 

“No,” he said. “This was never supposed to be my dream, teaching washed up celebrities how to rumba.”

“Washed up?” she asked with a little smirk.

“Not you of course,” he said with a smile of his own. “But this was a means to an end. To get money, to be recognized enough that I could start my own studio and choreograph actual art and teach kids how to do this, and let boys dance with boys and girls dance with girls and sometimes the boy does all the lifts instead —”

Just then, the door opened and Baelish walked in. They let go of each other and turned to face him, both falling instantly silent. Jaime was perversely reminded of middle school.

Baelish looked them both over, an nefarious gleam in his eye. Or maybe Jaime just thought he saw it because he knew what the executive producer was capable of. 

He tsked at them. “If you’re going to cavort with each other all over my set, you can’t be surprised when we’d want to make it part of the show.”

Jaime felt Brienne stiffen at his side. “We all know there are things that happen behind the scenes that don’t make it on camera because it serves you. And you only want to put us on camera because that  _ does _ suit you,” she said. Jaime puffed up his chest a little. 

Baelish shrugged. “It’s show business.” He looked them over again; Jaime fought the urge to stand in front of Brienne, a human shield. “We are going to debut you as a couple this week. The momentum will surely carry you into the finals. I’m not guaranteeing you’ll win, but you’ll have a good chance. Lannister, you’ll definitely have a big, juicy contract for next season, but you’ll probably get more opportunities in film and TV or even Broadway, maybe, so you might not even take it. And Brienne, you’ll be set up to do some commentating work for women’s soccer. If that pans out, you’ll expand into other sports, maybe even covering them for morning shows. You’ll both be set to go for a long time, and people would eat you up as a couple.”

Jaime could see it. He could be in a Disney TV special, dancing as one of the neon colored sea creatures. And Brienne would interview tennis players about how they overcame hardship to win their latest tournament. 

But people would eat them up as a couple. Jaime was struck by the violence of Baelish’s own metaphor. If they used this precious thing to get all that, would any of it be worth it? Would their relationship still be standing? Did they need Petyr Baelish to make their dreams come true.

“No,” Jaime said. “We’re not going to do it.” Baelish, for his part, didn’t look like he expected them to say anything else.

“Then you’re going to get kicked off this week. You’re really OK with that?” That was directed at Brienne.

“We are,” she said. Jaime would kiss her right here, if Baelish weren’t  _ also _ here. 

The producer nodded at them and swiftly exited the room. Jaime felt Brienne relax next to him, and he wrapped her in his arms. 

“You OK?” he asked. She nodded.

“You?”

“I’m perfect.” She pulled back and looked at him. 

“Do you have some sort of harebrained idea?”

“Yeah,” he said. “Do you trust me?”

“Completely.” She’d follow him into an open flame.

—

It should have been depressing, getting kicked off the show five days before they danced the last time. But it was freeing. Brienne wanted to see what she and Jaime had outside the confines of the show, and now that end was in sight.

And the dancing just felt more joyful. Thursday morning, they filmed again, doing a little more rehearsing and recording Brienne’s real talking head, where she mostly just blabbed about what an honor it was to recreate such an iconic dance. Then Jaime informed Pia that they’d be practicing elsewhere until Monday, and they left for a studio space Jaime had rented near his apartment for the next two days.

And then they just had  _ fun. _ They laughed and teased each other. Jaime didn’t stop himself from surprising her with a kiss every now and then, and she didn’t stop herself from tickling him when she caught him off guard. Brienne didn’t know if it would be their best dance, but it would surely be the one she enjoyed the most. 

Every moment with Jaime was full of joy, the opposite of every other experience she’d ever had with a man. She felt like she could be fully herself, and Jaime would still embrace her with open arms. 

On Friday night, they got tacos again with Elia and Addam, who raged at Baelish even more than they did.

“It’s kind of our fault,” Jaime admitted. “We got a little sloppy with hiding it.”

“Well it’s not fair for him to kick you off for it!” Addam said. “We should do something!” Elia, Brienne thought, seemed impressed by Addam’s furor. But Brienne and Jaime calmed them both.

“It’s for the best,” Jaime said. “I’d never quit if I wasn’t pushed.” 

“Well I’m quitting, too,” Addam said. “We’ll find new jobs doing something else.”

Brienne smiled at Jaime, wondering if he’d share his dancing school dream with his friends. But he just grinned and shrugged and changed the subject, and she didn’t push. 

On Sunday night, Jaime was in his kitchen, making a creamy mushroom pasta he promised she’d love. She’d helped by chopping onions, but now was mostly watching him watch the mushrooms in the pan. She’d put a playlist on using his kitchen speaker, and it played softly in the background. Jaime would hum from time to time, something swaying back and forth. He was so handsome and sweet; she knew as the days went by, she wouldn’t always feel quite as blissed out and enamored as she did right now, but she hoped the seed of it would stay forever. 

They were in the middle of discussing their Massachusetts plans — they could go on Tuesday, if they wanted, but they were deciding if they should wait a week or two — when the song changed. Slow synth filled the kitchen. “I love this song,” Brienne said.

“I don’t know this song,” he replied. She stood behind him and wrapped her arms around his chest.

“It’s Mitski,” she said. “Two Slow Dancers.” He spun in the circle of her arms and grabbed her around the waist. She slid her hands around his neck. They swayed from side to side and listened to the lyrics.

“It’s kind of sad,” Jaime whispered into her ear.

“Yeah, but it’s beautiful.” Jaime nodded and slowly spun them in a circle. 

“Are the mushrooms going to burn?” she asked. He shook his head.

“Dancing like this always makes me think of middle school dances,” he said. 

“I never went to any dances,” Brienne admitted. It was the type of confession that would have embarrassed her if she said it to anyone else before, like it marked her as deficient in some core way. “You have all my dances.” He kissed her under her ear, feather light, and she softened into his arms. 

Mitski crooned.  _ We're two slow dancers, last ones out. _

Jaime’s nose traced the line of her jaw. “I just want to say that, no matter what happens, I’m glad I said yes to this season,” he said. “Because before this season, I’d never danced with someone I was in love with.” She inhaled.

“Jaime.” He pressed a kiss to her chin, then pulled away. “I love you, too.”

He smiled at her, surprised and delighted all at once.

“You don’t think it’s too soon?” he asked. She shook her head.

“I don’t care if it is.” She kissed his lips, soft and slow, a steady and sure love burning between them. Jaime was hers, and she was his, and they were going to figure out their wild, improbable lives together. 

Jaime let go of her for a second to turn off the stove. She laughed but didn’t stop him, either. Instead, she took his hand and let him lead her to his bedroom. 

He shut the door behind her, then pressed her into it. They were touching from foot to shoulder, as he kissed her again.

“I love you,” he whispered as his hands explored her waist, where her leggings and tank top met. She giggled. She’d known, deep down, that he loved her, but hearing him say it — she didn’t expect to find happiness like this inside her.

“I love you,” she repeated back before finding his mouth with her lips again. 

He divested her of her tank top, and she helped him take off his sweatpants. The best thing about two athletes dating was that workout clothes were very easy to get the other person out of, though sometimes Brienne’s leggings proved a little tricky. Still, in an instant they were both naked, lying together on Jaime’s bed.

The first time with Jaime had felt so special, Brienne had almost worried they would never find something like that again. But everytime with Jaime was special. He appreciated her body, and he appreciated her, and he was very vocal about both. Tonight, he mapped a constellation of kisses on her chest, her breasts, her tummy. He licked her belly button and she squealed in delight. 

He rested his chin there and looked up at her, smiling in delight.

“What?” she asked, leaning back against the pillow to take him in. His hair was already messy, and the curve of his ridiculously perfect butt was just out of her reach. His green eyes were bright and sparkling, full of love and lust in equal measure. He was like a debauched god, lazing about after a long day. 

“I’m just thinking about how lucky I am.” He pressed a kiss to her belly button and felt the rumble of her laughter against his face.

“You’re very cheesy,” she said with all the fondness in her heart. He grinned, then nipped at her hip bone. 

“You knew that when you fell in love with me, baby.” She laughed as he used his hands to urge her to open his legs. He nipped at her thighs a moment, teasing her before diving in. She moaned as he traced her slit with his tongue.

“Jaime,” she cried. She clutched the sheets as he held her hips down with his hands.

He was usually the one who was talkative during sex, but tonight she couldn’t stop herself, letting her mouth flow freely. “That’s so good, Jaime. You’re so good. You drive me absolutely crazy.” The fingers of his right hand joined his mouth. “Ahhhh, Jaime, I’m so close. You’re so good, ahhhh.” She only stopped talking as he brought her over the edge, and she lost all powers of speech. She closed her eyes and let it wash over her. Jaime climbed back up to the top of the bed, lying next to her. 

“You good?” he asked when she opened her eyes. She kissed him in response. They stayed like that for what felt like a long time, kissing and touching and tasting, whispering “I love yous” back and forth. 

Eventually Jaime reached into his bedside drawer and snatched a condom. Brienne helped him open it and sheath his length in it. He kneeled between her legs and swiftly entered her, both of them crying out. 

“OK?” he asked, checking in.

“You’re perfect,” she said. He smiled at her, then lifted her hips, pulling her closer. 

“I love you,” he said, as he started to pound into her. She cried out, locking her ankles behind his back. 

“I know,” she said. Jaime laughed, sharp, and picked up his pace. She held herself up on her elbows and tried to match him, both of them gasping. She reached for a pillow and managed to prop it under her back, letting her rest a little easier.

“I love you so much, baby,” he said over and over again. Brienne didn’t think she’d ever tire of hearing it. 

“I’m so close,” she cried, and Jaime nodded. She reached forward to rub where they were joined together and soon she was falling over the cliff again. Jaime pumped into her a few more times before he followed her, collapsing on top of her. She ran her hands through his hair, kissing him as they both came back to earth. 

“Are you hungry?” he asked. She laughed again. Had she ever laughed so much in her life before Jaime?

“Yeah I am,” she confessed. 

Half-dressed, they finished making the pasta and ate it on the floor in the living room. 

—

Tech rehearsal on Monday went according to plan. The other competitors seemed suitably impressed with their dancing and the big lift, and both Jaime and Brienne knew the real thing would be even better. 

With so few competitors left, Brienne had her hair and makeup done in a room with some of the other women. She sat next to Missandei, both of them being primped and prodded by their stylists.

“You’re so lucky this week. Grey would never pick something that fun for us,” she whined, but Brienne could tell she wasn’t actually that annoyed. Their dance was inspired by  _ The Matrix,  _ and, from what Brienne had seen during tech, it was absolutely incredible.

“That’s because you’re doing the most physically and technially difficult stuff. Which is why you’re going to win,” Brienne said, matter-of-fact. It was true, and only the vestiges of Brienne’s competitive spirit felt bad about it. Missandei gave her a little smile. 

When Brienne’s hair and makeup were done, she was rushed off to put on her costume. It was just a simple light blue sleeveless dress, that ended right above her knees — an almost exact duplicate of the movie dress, except for the color. The back dipped a little low, showing off her muscles. She strapped on her character shoes and twirled for a second in the mirror — the skirt flew around just the way it was supposed to. She thanked Selyse for helping her then slipped into the hallway to find Jaime, who was already heading right toward her. 

She gasped when she saw him; she ought to be used to how handsome he was by now, but somehow he was still breathtaking. Tonight he was like something out of a dream she didn’t know she’d had, in perfectly tight black pants and a matching, short-sleeve button down. The top three buttons were open and the collar was popped, his hair pushed back rakishly. If Pod hadn’t walked by at that moment to remind her that they were second to last in the show, she might have embraced Jaime right there, forgetting where she was and that so many eyes could be on her.

Jaime clapped Pod on the back as he walked away, turning his attention fully to Brienne.

“You look amazing,” he said and she hoped no one was paying attention to them because she knew the truth of what they were to each other was right there on her face. Though she supposed that secretive feeling was just habit now; it didn’t matter anymore if people knew.

“Thank you,” she said back. “You don’t look so bad yourself.” He winked at her, like an  _ idiot, _ but before she could fully tease him, they were whisked away to spend the show in the green room with the other contestants. 

Jaime was nervous. His thigh kept bouncing up and down, and he wasn’t smiling. She put her hand on his leg to try to calm him down.

The truth was, Brienne didn’t feel anxious at all. It reminded her of the same feeling she had right before their last World Cup match — though it was exponentially less intense, and also she knew she was going to lose. But she trusted her team. They’d practiced. They knew they could do it, and now they would. 

She whispered assurances into Jaime’s ear as they sat pressed together on the couch. “It’s gonna be great.” “Addam and Elia are going to love it.” “There’s no one I trust more than you.” 

The way he smiled at her after that — she didn’t think she’d ever forget it. She’d known him less than three months but it was all true. She trusted him completely. They were going to go out with a bang.

Finally their dance came. They held hands as they walked to the stage, and Brienne squeezed his before letting go to find her place. He winked at her right before their rehearsal package began. Jaime telling Brienne what song they were doing, Brienne talking about why she loved  _ Dirty Dancing _ so much, Jaime and Brienne worrying about pulling off the lift. It was definitely less entertaining then the version that would have introduced them as a couple, and Brienne didn’t care. The footage ended.

“Dancing freestyle with her partner Jaime, it’s Brienne Tarth.”

_ Well I’ve had the time of my life… _

Slowly, seductively, Brienne made her way across the floor to Jaime. Every other dance they’d done, it had felt hard to get into character, but not for this. The way Baby felt about Johnny was the way Brienne felt about Jaime — exuberant, besotted, beloved. Ready. 

_ And I never felt like this before… _

They spun in quick circles, and Jaime dipped her back in a slow, smooth motion.

_ And I owe it all to you… _

Jaime helped her slide down into the split, and she glided back up. Before this show, she didn’t think she’d ever done a split before. Now she’d lost count of how many she’d done just like this.

They returned to the movie choreography, Brienne running her hand down Jaime’s neck as they smiled at each other. 

The music picked up and so did their feet. The crowd cheered and clapped along as they moved their way through the dance, which included a fun and quick lift reminiscent of the one Elia had taught her weeks ago. Brienne could tell the crowd was enjoying the dance, but she didn’t dare take her eyes off Jaime’s. 

The moment came quicker than Brienne remembered. Jaime winked at her, and they switched positions. Brienne ran out ahead of him.

_ This could be love… _

Jaime ran to Brienne and jumped. His hands pressed down on her shoulders, and she grabbed him by the waist, carrying him into the air over her head. The crowd screamed. Brienne wanted to yell, too, so excited she was that they had pulled the lift off. She didn’t worry for a second that she’d let him fall. The next day, she’d watch the video and pause it at this part, burning into her memory the look of joy on Jaime’s face as he rose above them all, arms stretched wide in the first official lift of his career. 

She gracefully helped Jaime down to the ground. He wrapped his arms around her waist and lifted her off slightly the ground, spinning her in a circle.

The rest of the dance was an absolute joy. Brienne was pretty sure she laughed out loud as they sped through the steps, and Jaime’s smile was megawatt. Too soon, the music slowed as their time came to an end. 

_ Now I’ve had the time of my life… _

Slowly they circled each other. Looking into each other’s eyes, they mouthed the lyrics in unplanned unison:

_ And I owe it all to you. _

_ Excerpt From “Dancing With The Stars Week 9 Recap: Entertainment Weekly” _

_ Fans were outraged to see Brienne Tarth and her partner Jaime Lannister sent home this week. While public support for their gender-flipped interpretation of Dirty Dancing’s iconic lift was strong on Twitter, the judges were strongly opposed, claiming it didn’t fit their strict criteria. But it seems the couple’s shocking elimination might spark major changes at DWTS; angry fans on social media spent the night questioning why a dancing competition is attached to such strict gender roles and gender normativity. _

_ For their part, neither Tarth nor Lannister seemed that upset to be sent packing. They also never commented on rumors they were romantically attached, so fans will have to keep their eyes glued to the pair’s Instagram accounts to see if anything changes. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [ Derek Hough and Bindi Irwin actually did the final dance](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xbagJa3w_t8&t=123s) from _Dirty Dancing_ during their season; some of the choreography here is inspired by Derek’s choices. (This chapter also contained some light Derek shade.) You can [watch the movie choreography here.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WpmILPAcRQo)  
> I know many of you were probably rooting for them to win the competition, but part of what I love about _Dirty Dancing_ and the final dance is that they’re triumphant losers. Johnny lost his job, all these people think they got the better of both of them, but they’re like “No, you can’t hold us down.” 
> 
> Will hopefully upload the epilogue very very soon, which will be kind of ~creative. Thank you to everyone for all your support of this fic! Will happily chat about any part of it in the comments/on tumblr/on discord.


	8. Epilogue

_Dancing Through Life_

_Vogue_ Weddings, November 2022

Brienne Tarth and Jaime Lannister seemingly fell off the face of the earth after they lost _Dancing With The Stars_ two years ago. A few days after their controversial elimination, a few tabloids picked up rumors that the pair, who had sizzling chemistry as dance partners, were actually romantically involved. But neither the soccer star nor the choreographer publicly commented on their relationship. They didn’t post on each other’s social media, and they were never caught together by the paparazzi. Fans wondered if the rumors had ever been true. A few sleuths claimed their infrequent postings were often from the same location, but they seemed like obsessives, not truth tellers.

And then, just about a year to the date of their exit from the reality show, they both posted the same snapshot to their Instagrams. They both smiled at the camera, and on Brienne’s ring finger was a small emerald ring. It seemed like the whole Internet freaked out.

“Of course it was on purpose,” Jaime said a few days before their October 2022 wedding when I asked him if they hid their relationship intentionally. The pair, who have made their home in Los Angeles, tied the knot on Cape Cod, where Brienne’s father Selwyn raised her and still lives. Brienne laughed at her then-fiancé’s glibness.

“We were both worried about what would happen if our relationship got shoved into the spotlight too soon,” she said. “It already felt strong, but it was new, and we didn’t want it to die right away.”

“I knew they were going to be together the first time I met him,” Sansa Stark, one of Brienne’s former national teammates said. “No, before I met him.” Sansa explained that Brienne’s first week on _DWTS_ corresponded with a breakup (no one mentioned the man by name, but in 2019 Brienne was linked to former NFL player Hyle Hunt). When Brienne was upset she would have no one at the first liveshow to cheer her on, Jaime reached out to some of her former teammates, and secretly had them fly out to support her. 

“It was so sweet,” Margaery Tyrell added. She and Sansa shared maid of honor duties. “And that first week, we said to her, ‘Hey, there’s something here.’ But it took her longer to listen to us.” 

“She had _just_ broken up with someone, I didn’t want to be a massive creep,” Jaime said defensively when I brought their friends’ comments up to the couple. “But of course I had a crush on her right away. Of course.” If you were in that room with them too, you would see how inevitable it was yourself. The pair were magnetic on television; in real life, it’s like every fairytale and romantic comedy and love song came true, and it’s even better than you thought it could be. 

Both of them were vague when I asked if the producers of the show found out they were together. By their own timeline, they finally got together about a month before they were kicked off, sometime around when they performed their viral tango. A year later, a reckoning hit _DWTS_ , with allegations of harassment, abuse and sexual misconduct levied against executive producer Petyr Baelish, who was eventually dropped by the network.

“It was not a good environment,” Jaime did finally say. He mentioned how proud he was of his friend and former partner Elia Martell — also in the bridal party — who was one of the first women to go on the record about Baelish. “I hope they’ve truly cleaned up shop, because I’ll always believe in the power of dance to bring people together. I mean, look at us.” He gave Brienne another gooey smile then. 

Within two weeks of the show ending, Brienne and Jaime fled Los Angeles, taking a long trip to visit her dad in Cape Cod. 

“I was terrified,” Jaime admitted. “Have you met him yet? He’s enormous.” At that point I hadn’t, but I saw just what he meant at the wedding. Brienne is 6’3”, and walking down the aisle in small heels, her father still towered over her.

“I liked Jaime right away because I could tell he loved my daughter,” Selwyn, who claimed he’s not very good at basketball, said. “That was all I needed.” He’d watched the show, so was slightly prepared for the couple’s in person chemistry. Jaime’s family never tuned in to the program; the only person who wasn’t surprised the dancer had fallen head over heels for the soccer star was his teenage niece, Myrcella, an avid soccer fan who’d gotten the chance to shoot around with Brienne during filming. 

“I kept trying to tell my mom about Brienne, but she didn’t think I was serious.” Myrcella looked very smug explaining this. “Look who was right.”

When the happy couple returned to Los Angeles after their three-week Massachusetts break, Brienne got a job coaching women’s soccer at UCLA. But Jaime was a little frozen, until Brienne gave him a push. 

“He had this dream of a big dance school, unmoored from the type of bullshit he’d experienced growing up.” By “bullshit,” she basically meant heteronormativity and cisnormativity and fatphobia and harsh gender roles. “And it took a lot of encouragement to get him to chase it.”

But he did. The Lion Academy of Dance and Ballet started in a store front in Van Nuys, but in two years has already expanded to teaching hundreds of dancers. Elia Martell and her boyfriend Addam Marbrand — also a former _DWTS_ competitor — are two of the teachers who’ve cycled through to train the next generation of dancers. Brienne also helped Jaime poach one of the show’s production assistants, Podrick Payne, to be his assistant as they work on building out the dance operation. 

There was one question left for the couple before wedding festivities really got underway: Why talk so publicly about their relationship now? They opened their mouths almost in unison, then silently passed the metaphorical microphone back and forth. Finally, Brienne took it.

“I spent a lot of my life thinking I could never find something like this,” she said. “And when I did find it, I was afraid of losing it.” She took Jaime’s hand then, and I felt the way I think my grandma does at the end of Hallmark movies. “And now I don’t want to be afraid. We’re just going to enjoy it.”

—

The wedding itself brought together the best women’s soccer players in the world, the best ballroom dancers in the world, four Tarths and seemingly a million Lannisters. The welcome reception took place in Selwyn Tarth’s backyard, though Brienne eventually convinced him to let her hire caterers and a bartender instead of firing up the grill himself. Jaime’s younger brother, Tyrion, and Brienne’s father got on like a house on fire. The soccer players found a ball somewhere and started a game down on the beach, Myrcella running back and forth with them in her red sundress. The couple worked the crowd with easy smiles on their faces.  
The wedding was held the next day at a small chapel near the beach. Brienne wore a simple and elegant white gown with spaghetti straps and a very low back and carried a bundle of baby’s breath. It’s cliche to say you should look at the groom’s face when the bride walks in, but at this wedding it was true. Jaime looked like every one of his dreams was coming true. They both cried through their vows and the maid of honor had to shove tissues into their hands. 

There’s one thing you’re surely still wondering about: the first dance. It was understandably the topic on everyone’s lips all weekend. Tyrion started a betting pool about whether they would do the _Dirty Dancing_ routine again, and if Jaime would be the one who was airborne this time, too. The couple was tight-lipped when I asked before the wedding.

When the moment of truth came at the reception, under a big tent filled with faerie lights and candles, they actually kept things lowkey, spinning around the dance floor to Bruce Springsteen’s “Tougher Than The Rest.” The gamblers were clearly disappointed by this turn of events, though I thought it was very sweet.

But the night was not over. Sometime after dinner but before the cake (vanilla cake with raspberry jam and chocolate frosting, absolutely delicious), the bride disappeared, returning in a short white romper just as the familiar music began: “Well I’ve had the time of my life.” The screaming from the soccer team could surely be heard in New Hampshire.

Technically, it was probably sloppier than the dance that sent them home, but it got 10s across the board from their family and friends. When the big lift came, this time Jaime sent Brienne flying into the air. His brother reportedly spent the next week sorting out what this second dance meant for the betting pool.

At the goodbye brunch on Sunday, the hungover wedding guests gathered to eat breakfast sandwiches and chug iced coffee. Only Jaime and Brienne seemed bright eyed and bushy tailed. 

I asked them if they were happy with how the wedding went. Brienne twirled the wedding band around her husband’s finger. 

“Can’t ask for more, can I?” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Languageintostillair did a similar chapter that was also a fake news article in their office AU. It's very good and I recommend it! chrkrose has also done similar stuff in The Contract, which I also love a lot. 
> 
> ok this is the end!! writing this fic has been a joy during this terrible, no good, very bad time, so thank you to every one who commented and supported, especially flythroughflames and everyone on jb discord. if you're reading this for the first time now that it's over, either in september 2020 or far in the future, welcome, thank you for reading, i hope you liked it!


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